


The Art Of Deprivation

by ValentineRunaway



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Amanda is actually nice, Art Gallery AU, Connor is a nerdy art student, Connor is build like a twink, Depression, Dirty Talk, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Hank is a photographer, I make the characters so OOC but its my au, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kamski is an asshole because WHY NOT, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, a lot of characters but some of them are sadly only seen for a little bit, artistic talk all the time, gavin is mean booo, hinted Elijah Kamski/Chloe, hinted Kara/Luther, hinted Markus/Simon, smut at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 00:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 78,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15061274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValentineRunaway/pseuds/ValentineRunaway
Summary: Hank Anderson works in a huge art gallery, that gets thousands of visitors every day. But only one of them catches Hank's eyes, and he believes he is in love.--Art gallery AU is my own, and was inspired by my day of visiting different kind of art galleries.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I visited Ateneum in Helsinki, which is such a beautiful place full of beautiful works. I decided that I would write something related to art, and I thought this ship would be a perfect fit for this AU. I want to remind that even if this all happens in Detroit, I was too lazy to check any actual art galleries in that city and see what they really look like from the inside. So, the whole art museum they are in is completely made out of my own head, heavily inspired by Ateneum. Some of the art works in the museum are inspired by actual art works, some of them are inspired by Carl's works and some of them are just completely made up by me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the opening night of Carl Manfred's works being put on display, Hank's eyes meet with a young stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am super proud of this work for some reason and I am so excited to finally publish it for your eyes to read! I put a lot of work on it, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Hank Anderson worked as an art gallery assistant, welcoming guests inside and making them feel welcome. Sometimes he would stay by the entrance, give the customers their tickets, put a little sticker on their chest and try to sell them products that promoted the gallery. Sometimes, maybe a little too often, Hank was walking around the gallery, just looking at the surroundings he had seen so many times already. He was usually giving advice to people, answering their curious questions and showing the right way to go. Quite often he was the man who knew where the restrooms and cafe were, so he was always showing the way there for the people who didn't bother looking at the artworks. Kids these days. No, people these days, no appreciation for art at all. Why bother even visiting if you weren't going to be fully invested?

Hank was an artist himself, if he dared to admit. He was a photographer, a passionate one indeed. But none of his works had never been on display, even if all of his photos were laying in the dust in the basement where he worked quite often. Hank just wasn't confident enough to show his work to anyone, even if he had the talent for it. Hank was also an artist, but he had never finished any of his paintings and had only stayed in his figure drawings that could only be counted as simple sketches. He wished he could do more with his artistic skills, but so far he was happy like this, hidden from the world. 

Hank wasn't just an old man who was wasting his time in the gallery. Every now and then he also did some office work such as answering phones, dealing with correspondence and emails, and other daily administrative duties. He also communicated with artists who wanted their work to be shown at the gallery, and he also helped with the promotion of the gallery’s exhibitions. Easy work for him that filled his pockets more than it was needed.

 

 

Hank worked at The Eden Gallery, that has been the biggest art gallery of Detroit for years now. The building was huge and old-fashioned, appointed rooms that looked like they had been build thousands of years ago, the building first used as something rather different than a museum, a palace of some royalty perhaps. The building had been standing in this spot since the 1800, and it seemed like someone who collected art used to live here. One of the reasons why this exact building became to be full of artistic pieces instead of a five star hotel. The place was filled with baronial rooms, walls and floors made out of the most clearest stone, creative decorations and carvings all over the place. Hank had to admit, that every time he entered through the front doors and walked up those large stairs, looking up to see white walls, paintings and a large window surrounding him, he could not help but feel like a princess in a fairy tale. The place was truly magical to look at.

The gallery offered all kinds of artworks to be viewed by the curious public eye. They had all kinds of art movements to be shown - Realism, minimalism, romanticism ... the list went on and on. They even had abstract art on display and every now and then, there even was a performance artist visiting the place. Some statues were there and there, forcing every visitor to leave their largest bags to the stand near the doors so they wouldn't accidentally touch the statues and make them fall. 

Hank loved walking around in the gallery, inspecting the works of art and noticing the tiniest details of every piece. He had done so much walking in this place that he had started to grow a preference on the art he enjoyed the most. Impressionism was Hank's favorite. He liked the simple, small brush strokes, the art clearly showing how the artist saw the world. Hank did respect works that were as realistic as a photograph, but to Hank art and photography were supposed to be two different things. Photos capture the moment like it is, the art captures the moment as what it could be, or even captures something that is impossible to capture. Hank wasn't a big fan of realism, that painted a moment truthfully, avoiding artistic elements that came from your imagination. He also didn't get minimalism - how could a canvas that had been only colored red be called art? Hank didn't see any soul in works like that, but he did respect some aspects of them.

Here Hank was, judging works he didn't like, thinking he was somehow better. But that's what every other artist did, too.

 

Even if some days were boring and he had nothing to do, Hank Anderson loved working in this gallery. It was like any other gallery - there was the art exhibition that never left, and then the other side of the building was made for the art works that stayed there only for a certain amount of time, changing like the weather during the year. This art gallery also wasn't like the others - there were rooms that hosted drawing nights for people of all ages, and you could even rent a room for your own artistic needs. The place was supportive of all kinds of artist, encouraging kids to be more creative and express themselves. Hank enjoyed that. Even if he was old and preferred to be alone with his dog Sumo, he still appreciated that people worked hard to keep art alive. 

Hank Anderson loved art and everything related to it. And so, he loved his job. He almost loved life.

 

 

But lately, his mood has been going up and down. Some nights, he was completely his normal self. Other nights, his old habits of heavy drinking came back. And the worst nights, he even wished to die.

And Hank had to deal with this all by himself, because he trusted no one. 

Only his job kept him going.

 

Until one day, when everything in his life seemed to change and for once, Hank thought life without his son was still worth living for.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

The Eden Gallery was hosting a big opening night today. Carl Manfred himself had finally accepted the gallery's invitation for him to put his works out there on their walls, and today, he was presenting some of his old works and some of his new. Everything had been displayed in one big room, paintings on the walls and one big work hiding behind some curtains. It was his new work that no one had not yet seen, and in front of that work the party was about to start.

People were holding cheap plastic champagne glasses in their hands, talking to each other and dressed up so nicely some people thought the gallery was hosting a wedding. Carl Manfred was next to his work, sitting in his wheelchair and looking like he only partially enjoyed being here. Next to him stood two men - Leo Manfred, his son that had just got rid of his heavy drug abuse, and Markus Manfred, a dark skinned young man with two different colored eyes who had been adopted into the rich family. 

Hank is chatting with Carl, soon ready to introduce him and start the opening night. He feels a little nervous to be next to the older man, because Hank was quite a fan of him. He felt honored that he was allowed to take the first speech and be a part of Carl's big night. They were somewhat distant friends, probably the only two artist the whole Detroit had left, so they got along well. Hank never really saw him on his free time, since Carl was an old man already who didn't go to bars but stayed at home playing chess and watching TV. So, mostly Carl was a work related friend that Hank looked up to.

Soon, the room is full of people of all ages and Hank Anderson finds himself standing in front of them. He claps his hands together a few times to get the crowd quiet. As he sees the crowd, he notices that some people are way too overdressed. Or maybe Hank had not dressed enough for the occasion. He is wearing the clothes he is always wearing - a pair of old jeans, a button shirt with a crazy design and his trusty brown jacket over it. His grey hair is mostly free, the ends of it almost touching his shoulders, but the hair on top of his head had been pulled back and put into a small ponytail. Over his crooked nose Hank has his favorite pair of round glasses, and just for today, he has even combed his beard. Even if to him he was dressed just fine, Hank couldn't help but compare.

He simply introduces himself and what was happening tonight. He explains how much of a 'great honor it was to be hosting this night', and other things he had written down multiple times when he had prepared for this speech. And without further ado, he almost shouts Carl Manfred's name and then it's his turn to speak.

 

 

Everyone is clapping, someone even shouting compliments at the man as Carl rolls between his unrevealed work and the crowd. He smiles and thanks the audience multiple times, waiting for them to turn quiet before he starts talking.

"Painting isn't about replicating the world. It's about interpreting it, improving on it, showing the world what you see", Carl starts his speech with one of his most famous quotes. Hank loves those words, cherishing the meaning behind them, completely agreeing with it. He folds his hands over his stomach and he looks around like he is trying to keep himself entertained. As expected, the crowd is mostly full of people who are only interested in buying and selling works, instead of actually inspecting and enjoying them. He sees some parents with their kids who luckily know how to be quiet and then some teenagers who are looking down at their phones.

To his enjoyment, Hank sees a few young adults in the crowd. One of them is waving at someone, and as Hank's eyes follow where they were looking at, he sees Markus wave back. He realizes these people are friends of Markus, and for some reason, Hank inspects them carefully.

One of them is a young man with a pale skin and well tamed blond hair. His cheeks seem slightly red and his blue eyes keep looking at Markus. Markus looks back at him with a loving smile. 

Another young man is next to him, his skin color much darker brown and his arm was playfully around some girl's shoulders. The girl was smirking widely, her amber blonde colored hair falling onto her shoulders as she leaned against her friend - or maybe boyfriend? Who knew, who cared. The two of them seemed to be whispering to each other every now and then, luckily so quietly that it didn't bother anyone.

With them, there is another young male, and suddenly, Hank realizes he is staring at him the most. He isn't sure why - it's just a young student with soft looking white skin and dark brown hair done so perfectly, a few strands of it falling over his forehead quite nicely. This boy looks like the basic hipster you see in coffee shops - he is wearing a light brown sweater vest, under it a white button shirt and over his legs he has a pair of dark blue tight jeans. Hank can see that on his chest there is that gallery sticker, a round ball with a blue triangle in the middle. He has a shoulder bag that looks heavy, probably full of books or something. Somehow, he looks like a great student.

Hank doesn't even realize that his heart is thumping against his chest a little harder and that his mouth is hanging open a little. He shakes his head and looks away, trying to understand what had just happened. Hank couldn't help but feel intrigued by this passenger, this handsome bastard that looked like a masterpiece in Hank's eyes.

He can't help it. Part of him tells him to approach this man.

But then it's too late.

 

 

 

The painting was released, the curtains in front of it pulled down and the audience is gasping and cheering, clapping their hands together to create a melody only a true artist could appreciate. A melody of appreciation. The large canvas had been painted completely blue, lighter and darker shades smashed together to create a face that was looking down at the audience, peeking over their shoulder. They had splattered blue ink over the character's eyes and it was dripping down over its form. The painting wasn't realistic, far from it, but it had that touch of it that made you think you were looking into a mirror. Carl Manfred's original way of seeing the world and its inhabitants was clearly shown in it. Confident brush strokes, strong colors, no time used to make tiny details that the public eye would miss. It was a painting of freedom, blinded by love, calming and soothing to look at. 

Carl Manfred continued talking about his work and the meaning of it, also explaining how the hell he was able to paint something so big when he was stuck in a wheelchair. Hank, once again, wasn't really listening, because the only thing he could see was that boy, no, young man.

He just seems to stand out, even if he was completely ordinary, just like everyone else from the outside. But Hank, a person who called himself an artist, was that kind of a person who focused on the tiniest details, instead of focusing on the whole picture. Hank Anderson stares at that man and as he inches a little closer to the crowd, he notices every little thing that makes this man so beautiful to look at. That pale skin with a few moles there and there, creating constellations on his skin. Those few brown locks poking out, refusing to stay in their place with the rest of the hair that the boy had used a lot of time on. It seemed like his hair was actually somewhat curly, but he had put all kinds of lotion and coconut oil to make it appear straight and get a nice hairdo for today. 

His nose is straight, and he has a cleft chin. His eyes seem to be the same color as his hair, only a bit lighter. Hank finds this man quite ... pleasing to look at.

Suddenly, the boy turns to look around and their eyes meet for a second. Hank doesn't know how to react, so he does the usual thing people do when they are caught staring - he smiles a little and then nods his head as a way to say 'hello'. And luckily, the boy seems to smile back at him, and he also lifts his head up a little. Hank decides to look away so he doesn't look like a weird old man preying on young men.

 

 

Soon, people start moving and start looking at the other works around the gallery room. Hank wants to make a move on that man, just wants to say something to him, but he sees that he is running off somewhere with his friends and Hank decides to not bother him. Besides, Carl Manfred is rolling his wheelchair towards him and they start chatting.

"I do think that I hate opening parties like this", Carl muttered, Markus following after him like a servant. "I just keep wondering how many people in here are actually interested in my art. For what I saw, most of them just want to buy my art and then sell it forward, in hopes of getting rich."

"Now, now, Carl. I'm sure everyone is eager to see your works in public again", Markus Manfred comforted his adoptive father and tapped him cheerfully on the shoulder. 

"Yes, and if it makes you feel any better, I'm very excited to see your wonderful works here every day from now on", Hank said with a smile, and Carl huffed. "You're my number one fan, Anderson. Of course you'll like my works. I would just hope they would inspire someone."

Carl Manfred wasn't insecure about his works. He knew he had the talent. The only thing the old man was worried about was what the others thought about his works. The old man was convinced that people these days no longer appreciated art, and as long as he thought like that, he wouldn't stop complaining. But no one really cared, because Carl was old, almost in his death bed, so they allowed him to be angry if he really wanted to. At least Carl recognized that a few people truly appreciated his works, like Hank, for example.

"But your works do inspire someone", Markus said and looked at his father, who just chuckled like he didn't believe him.

"And who do I inspire?" he asked and looked over at Markus and his heterochromic eyes.

"My friend Connor."

 

 

Hank's head lifts up as he hears that unusual name. He knew Carl, so he had also learned to know Markus, and that way he had also learned to hear some of his friends names. He had never seen them, though. "Care to introduce us to your friends, Markus?" Hank decides to ask, entering the conversation. Markus looks a bit hesitant for a while, but he ends up smiling and nodding. He then turns around, looks at the crowd until he makes eye contact with someone and waves them to come closer. And suddenly, there were four more young adults in their presence. And all of them looked so familiar.

"This is Simon, my boyfriend", Markus says bravely and a blond man moved next to him, waving with his other hand, other hand entwining together with Markus's fingers. They looked at each other smiling and Markus gave him a kiss on the cheek that made Simon blush and look away a bit shyly. Hank smiled at that. He was glad the future was more accepting of same-sex couples, because things used to be a lot worse for them before. A lot worse for him.

"Get a room", the only girl of the group says and laughs. She walks in front of Carl and shakes his hand like they had never met. She then moves over to Hank and shakes his hand too, her grip strong and confident. "I'm North, the leader of the group", she introduces herself proudly, before throwing her reddish hair behind her shoulders and going back to her friends, giving a playful wink to Hank. Hank Anderson left a soft 'oh', but as he realized the girl was just joking and not actually hitting on him - I mean who would -, Hank laughed and relaxed.

"Here is Josh", Markus continues and his black friend waves and smiles, before returning to look down at his phone. His fingers were moving so fast that Hank detected he was playing a video game of some sort.

"And here is Connor, the one who has been eager to see your work in real life, dad."

 

 

Hank's eyes fall on the young man he had been eyeing before and he can't help but smile. This Connor looks awkwardly around and moves over to Carl, shaking his hand too. "It's - It's an honor to meet you", he mumbles out, clearly quite thrilled to see the man he has been looking up to. Hank acts like a detective, and he suspects that Markus has shown pictures of his father's works to his friends, which is why Connor was already a fan before even seeing any of those works in real life.

"It's great to meet another fan", Carl says with a smile, then points at Hank. "My friend Hank here is also quite of a fan himself."

Connor turns to look at him and Hank finds himself swallowing, growing even nervous. He does the thing again - smiles and nods, hoping it was all over by that. But Connor moves over to him and offers his hand. His wrist is so skinny, that Hank could wrap his fingers so easily around it. Hank looks at his hand for a second before he grabs it. The size difference is huge. Connor's hands feel almost feminine, some parts soft but some parts clearly rough, a certain feeling of bones sticking out from underneath. The boy shakes his hand with excitement and smiles.

"Nice to meet you, Hank ... ?"

"Anderson. Hank Anderson", he introduced himself like he was the new James Bond. Connor lets go of his hand and his hands move to grab on the handle of his bag. The boy looks down at his feet with a smile, then picks them up almost seductively, some kind of innocence in his eyes that made Hank feel a little uneasy. Uneasy in a good way, like he was a flustered teenager.

"Hank Anderson works in this art gallery", Markus informed, apparently being the person in the group who introduced everyone to each other. It was like Markus knew everything about everyone and got to be the leading man. But he was a clever and a social young man with large hopes for the future, so of course Markus did his best to also be social. Connor looks behind him and raises his eyebrows at his friend. "Really?" Connor asks and turns back to look at Hank. Hank chuckles and buries his hands deeper into his jacket's pockets. 

Carl rolls a little closer to Hank. "He is just wasting his time here, walking around and telling guests where the bathroom is, instead of actually displaying his works on the walls!" Carl muttered, but he had a smile on his face that told he was clearly making a joke. Or simply just teasing his friend.

"Your works?" Connor asks and he turns back to Hank. He is wearing the most innocent look in his face, mixed together with a kind smile and curious eyes. Hank rubs the back of his neck and smiles a little awkwardly. 

"Yeah, I guess I'm an artist too", Hank admitted, suddenly a bit shy from all the attention. The young adults were looking at him and Carl was making that satisfied face as he rolled away. Of course Carl mentioned Hank's artwork to them so they would leave the old man alone, who just wanted to rest. Hank felt a bit surprised by the attention. He hadn't shown his works to anyone else but Carl, who of course gave all kinds of helpful hints for him to improve. Connor takes a step closer to Hank, hands held near his chest like he was an excited school boy.

"What kind of art do you do?" he asked.

"I'm a photographer, but I do also have the capability to draw and paint, even if I aren't as good as our Carl here", Hank explains. Carl shushes him.

"You should stop being such a chicken shit and put your work out there", Carl Manfred mutters, and the youngsters all yell out, calling Carl 'smut mouth' and a 'gangster'. While everyone is laughing, Connor turns to look at Hank for a moment, and the moment Hank looks back at him, he turns away and smiles. Hank raises his eyebrows at that.

 

 

The young adults leave, Carl Manfred talks to more of the visitors and Hank Anderson starts walking around the gallery, getting a good look at the works himself. Luckily, today the visitors were actually looking at the art works. Quite many of them were holding papers and maps that showed more of this whole place, so Hank was allowed to have some time for himself. His favorite part of working here was to look at the paintings, statues and other installations and today was just the perfect time to do that.

Hank walks slowly, inspects every piece of art himself before he reads the tiny text that has been put below the work. Always the same text - Name of the artwork, name of the artist, the date when it has been made. Usually there would also be a short description of what the painting represented, but Carl Manfred didn't do that kind of stuff. He only had the needed information, and then he let the viewer decide themselves what the work was about. Hank admired that. He admired works that could be seen in different ways, depending on how you looked at it.

Anderson stops in front of a painting that was quite small for its size. On a black canvas, there were two pair of hands holding nothing inside their palms, maybe reaching for something that was unseen. Or maybe showing the viewer what they had in their hands - something you couldn't see, like freedom, or slavery. The other pair of hands had been painted blue and the other one red, the colors fighting against each other like water and fire.

Hank moves on to the next painting. A self-portrait of two artists together, a father and son, created in strong quick brush strokes. An old man on the front, with a younger figure standing behind him. Their faces were unclear, with some blue colors splattered over their faces like blood. But Hank knew it was a portrait of Markus and Carl together. Sometimes it seemed like Markus Manfred was more of a caretaker than adopted son, but maybe that's how they wanted it to be.

 

Hank Anderson moves slowly, and without even realizing, most of the guests have already left. Maybe it's better that everyone was already gone. Now, it was much quieter and Hank could relax. No one was pumping into him or asking for help on 'how to find the exit so I can get the hell out of this boring show'. Hank took his time to inspect the artworks, because after all, he had nothing else to do. He would rather be here and pretend he was in deep thought instead of go into the lounge and sit behind a desk.

He stops in front of the big blue work that had been shown to the world for the first time only ... 34 minutes ago. Hank was impressed - usually when the gallery revealed some new artwork, people would look at it for five minutes and then just forget about it. It was a success that Carl Manfred's painting got that much attention. Now, no one was around it and Hank moved to stand in front of it and just look at it in all of its glory. He had stared at the blue figure from far away too, but he had not yet seen it this close. He could see some parts that had more paint, a thick layer clearly poking out. The work wasn't smooth like the human skin, nor was it done carefully. The background was visible with strong brush strokes, clear sign that the artist didn't want to make a flat surface, but a rocky one. The work reminded Hank of the sea, every different shade of blue representing a wave, every black spot that had found its way on the work pretending to be a creature hiding in the water.

Hank knows he isn't alone. He can hear Carl Manfred fighting a little with his son Leo, but it only lasts for a moment, and they seem to be working together again like nothing had happened. Apparently Leo is still having trouble keeping himself clean, but luckily he has the support he needed. Hank knew these small details because he was always listening, pretending he was busy with something else. But his ears were always open, working as a second pair of eyes.

He could hear Markus talk to his friends, chatting, laughing. Hank decides to look over his shoulder. He sees the group of friends heading towards the exit, quite slowly, everyone chattering and giggling. He sees Connor in the middle of them, looking a bit uncomfortable, and then his head turns towards Hank. Once again, Hank just nods as a 'hello', instead of raising his hand and waving. This time, Connor actually waves at him instead of nodding, and all of his friends turn to look at Hank. They giggle, get closer to each other and Hank just rolls his eyes and turns back to look at the work. They were all adults, - God knows if they were in their early or late 20s -, and they still acted like teenagers. Some things never changed.

 

 

 

Hank can hear a pair of footsteps approaching. He doesn't have to look again to know who it is. He silently waits, and soon, he is no longer alone.

 

"It's quite impressive, isn't it?"

 

 

 

Connor seemed to be one of those people who knew how to start a conversation without a trouble. Hank was the opposite. If Connor would have been too shy to say anything, a complete thick silence would have fallen between them. Hank was more than glad that it didn't end up like that.

"It is", Hank answers simply, hands in his pockets and his eyes never leaving the artwork. And then, the silence falls between them, just like Hank predicted. He can hear Connor take a deep breath and kick his foot against the ground. With the corner of his eye, he can see Connor peek behind him before returning his gaze to the painting.

"So, I understood you paint too?" Connor finally spits out. Hank turns to look at him and raises his brows at him.

"Yes, sometimes. But I'm not very good at it. I only know how to create what I see. Carl, for example, paints from his own imagination", he explains and lifts his glasses a little higher on his crooked nose. "As you maybe know, painting isn't about replicating the world. It's about ... interpreting it, improving on it, showing the world what you see. That's something I don't really know how to do."

Connor turns to look at Hank, and he lets out a chuckle that echoes around the room. "You just quoted Carl", the youngster had noticed. Damn it.

"No, I didn't. I made that up, just now", Hank insisted, smiling playfully. Connor laughs, now much louder.

"No, you didn't!" he says. "Carl literally said those words in his opening speech."

"Oh, so you really were listening? That's good, then", Hank says and finally, he turns to look at Connor and smiles at him. Connor laughs again, his eyes falling to the floor. He soon lifts them again, that playful look in his eyes and amused smirk on his face.

 

 

"So you enjoy taking photos?" he asks. Connor lifts his hand to move some of his hair over his head, but few of those curls fall back in front of his forehead. Hank bites his bottom lip and shrugs.

"Well, yeah. I prefer capturing a single moment that goes unnoticed, instead of creating a new one", Hank Anderson says. He can't seem to take his eyes off this young man and that handsome face. Connor looked like one of those statues from Ancient Greece, white skin made out of marble and looks so heavenly it was hard to believe there wasn't an angel hidden under that sculpture. 

"Also, I'm quite bad with colors", Hank admits and the younger man chuckles. Hank didn't enjoy painting because making the colors blend together was a hard task, but with photographs you didn't need to do that. All of his works in the basement were black and white, anyway. Connor looks down at the ground again before lifting his head up almost immediately. More curls fall from their original place and Connor is once again correcting his hair. Hank looks at him, this time seeing Connor's face more from the side. He had cute cheekbones and a nice haircut, and his Adam apple was poking out strongly.

Hank swallowed.

"Are you an art student?"

"What?" Connor suddenly jumps and turns to look at him.

"Just a guess. Markus is an art student, and you're his friend, so I thought-"

"Oh, yes! I go to The Art Institution of Detroit", Connor explains. He nervously laughs and ruffles with the back of his head, eyes glued down onto the ground. "I'm interested mostly in drawing, but I also equally love taking photos."

"You do? What kind of a camera you have?" Hank asks.

 

 

Connor's face lightens up and he reaches for his bag, opens the fly and pulls out a Polaroid camera, the new kind. It was small, colored brightly dark blue, easy to use. "A bit old school, I know. I like using this, but at school we use more modern cameras", Connor explains and shows the camera to Hank. He moves his finger tips over the structure, but never dares to pick it up into his own hands, as Hank didn't like holding something that belongs to someone else.

"This is actually a modern camera, too, just a little hipster, that's all", Hank comments. Connor opens his mouth in a big 'o' and lets out a gasp.

"Says the man with a tiny ponytail and a crazy Hawaiian shirt", Connor says cockily and he lifts his chin up high like he was proud of his own words. Now Hank is the one who pretends to be offended. "Oh, you got me there, kiddo", he says, and then both of them are laughing. And then, they both turn to look at the painting again, and silence falls between them.

But not for long.

"Do you come here often?"

 

Connor seems to jump from the question. His hair stands up, his face goes a little pale and he raises his shoulders so high they touch his ears. Connor relaxes finally and looks at him, raising his eyebrows. "What?" he mutters out. It takes Hank a moment to realize what was wrong with his question and he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck.

"No, I meant - Do you visit this gallery often, or is this your first time being here?" he repeats the question he tried to ask, now without confusing the other one.

"Oh", Connor huffs and moves a hand over his heart like he was relieved. "I have visited a few times, yes. I would visit more often if it was free. There is so much I can do and buy as a student with a minimum wage", he continues. Hank looks at him for a second, just giving a soft hum as an answer and his gaze turns to look back at the painting, admiring how large it was.

"I could give you a free pass here, if you want."

 

Connor turns to look at Hank, mumbles out 'what' yet again. Hank looks at him, raising his eyebrows at the young man. "People who work here can visit this place with their friends and family without paying for any tickets. One of the benefits of the job. If I can get your full name and phone number up, then all you have to do is go to the counter and say you know me, and you won't have to pay for a ticket", Hank explains. His hand in his pocket is already playing with his phone, soon pulling it out and ready to make a new contact. Connor looks surprised - his mouth is locked open, eyes as big as they could go and there seemed to be a red hint on his cheeks. Soon, he gets back to the real world, agreeing to the deal with excitement and Connor gives the information Hank needs. Hank types the name down, then the phone number and makes sure that he has the contact saved, before he puts the phone down back into his pocket.

"Now you can visit this place every day, if you feel like it!" Hank says and lets out a soft laugh. Connor laughs with him, but he seems a bit nervous. His toes are touching each other, hands holding tightly onto the bag's handle and his gaze seems to be everywhere else but on Hank. Anderson doesn't really mind.

"You know, every Tuesday and Saturday, we are hosting some drawing nights for people of all ages. You know, we get together, draw something from a model or take photographs, whatever. You're free to join, if you want?" Hank suggested, hands back in his pockets, fingers scratching each other. He looked at the young male, swinging around a bit nervously.

"Oh?" Connor breathed out. "W-when's the next session?" 

"This Saturday. If you want to come, you can go to the lounge by seven and I'll come pick you up, show you were the room is", Hank offers. Hank Anderson can't help but feel excited, for some reason. He doesn't understand why he is so nervous, why he is sweating under his jacket and how he wants to run away, and move closer at the same time. Connor nods, more than once, and then he smiles. He smiles so widely that Hank can see that perfect row of white teeth.

"I'll be there!" Connor promises, holding tightly onto his bag.

 

A bit awkwardly, they say good bye to each other and Connor is running towards the exit, and Hank can't help but look after him. He looks at the direction the boy ran to for long, even when his shadow was no longer to be seen.

What was this new feeling coming back alive in his chest?

 

 

\--

 

 

Connor goes to the lounge, but doesn't see his friends. He goes to the front doors, moves out and sees his friends waiting for him at the bottom of the rocky stairs. North and Josh are standing on the stairs, playing with their balance, and Markus and his boyfriend Simon are sitting at the large stone railing next to the stairs, close to each other as always. Connor literally runs the stairs down and at the last few steps, he almost falls, but luckily Josh catches him, telling him to slow down and be more careful. Josh was almost the mother of their group, always worried, always second guessing.

"So, you finally talked to him?" Markus asked, finally taking his eyes away from his boyfriend. In return, Simon leaned his head against his shoulder and closed his eyes. He and Markus were always holding hands, like they were glued together. It was quite sweet to look at. Connor nods to the question, and his friends smile. Expect North, who is suspicious of the older man. But she was always like this, thinking that every new person they met was wanting to hurt them.

"You seemed to get along pretty well, maybe the feelings are mutual", Markus pointed out and he cracked a smile. Connor slammed his hands over his face, blushing. "That's too soon, Markus. It's impossible for him to already like me in that way", he mutters, shyly looking through the crack of his fingers. His friends laugh a little.

"To be honest, I'm proud you were so brave, Connor", Simon mumbles, his eyes still closed like he was dreaming, talking in his sleep. 

"Yeah. After stalking him for God knows how long, you finally decided to make the first move!" North cracks out, clapping her hands together, applauding to her friend.

"I wasn't stalking him!" Connor yells, throwing his hands to his sides. "I've just seen him here a couple of times, nothing else!"

"Connor, how many times have you visited this gallery again after the first time you saw him?" Josh asks, raising his brows. Connor stays quiet for a while, looking down at his feet.

"... Four", he mutters out. His friends are laughing again.

 

Connor had visited the gallery because, well, he was an art student and teachers loved it when their students were dedicated to their own passions. It had been a quick visit for Connor, but he had still been able to walk through the whole gallery. And that's when he had met Hank Anderson. Or just seen him from far away. And for some reason, Connor had developed a crush on him.

 

Markus stands up, letting go of Simon's hand who opens his eyes and looks a little sad to be left alone. "Well, how did it go? What did you guys talk about?" Markus asks and moves a little closer to Connor. Connor smiles and once again moves some of his chocolate colored curls away from his forehead, but they always ended up falling back down.

"Well, he is super nice and ... charming. Liked my jokes", Connor starts. "He suggested I would attend some club meetings of some sort. I think he is hosting them here or something."

"Oh, that's cool", Josh comments. "If you're a nerd", North chuckles and sticks out her tongue. Connor also sticks out his tongue. It's like they were 15 years old, with no care for the world.

"Are you sure you have time for a hobby like that with school and your job and all?" Simon asks, tilting his head to the side, his expression a little worried.

"It's alright, I have every other weekend free anyway, so I don't have to serve coffee then", Connor reassures. He worked at a coffee shop in the middle of the town, and even if it was busy there, he still got a nice amount of money out of it. But just like everyone, Connor needed some time to rest, so that's why he didn't work every weekend. Connor would also probably take some Tuesdays free, so he could just see Hank a little more often.

"Well, did you get his number?" North asks.

"North, I think it's a bit too soon for that! ... Right?" Josh mutters, looking a bit confused. Josh wasn't really into dating in the first place, so most of the time he was falling behind from the relationship talk. Not like he didn't understand, he just had no preference. Connor wiggles a little, and he can't help but smile.

"No, I didn't get his number ... But he got mine."

 

All of his friends jump on top of Connor, shouting, hugging and jumping. They were cheering for him, excited for his great success and Connor couldn't imagine how happy he was to have such supportive friends.

 

He couldn't wait until Saturday so he could meet his crush.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank used to think drawing nights were always boring and quiet, until Connor starts joining them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me a while to post this chapter! I was having a depressive episode of some sort, but I'm back to working again !

Saturday came, and Connor could not have been more nervous.

 

He entered The Eden Gallery, climbing up the stone stairs and going through the glass doors, passing a few people who were leaving the gallery with satisfied looks. He was only five minutes early for the 'club meeting' that was supposed to start at seven in the evening. The truth was, Connor had spend the last twenty minutes outside the gallery, collecting his courage to go inside. It felt like a date to him - Connor had no idea what these drawing nights were like, but he mostly suspected that no one ever went to those. Maybe, if he was lucky, it would just be him and Hank.

Finally, no longer feeling so nervous that he would even throw up and faint, Connor walked over to the counter in the lounge and greeted the girl sitting behind it.

"Hi, welcome to The Eden Gallery! We are close to our closing time, so there will be no more tours today but you can still walk around freely. If you want, you can borrow a headset that will introduce you to our art works", the assistant behind the counter said with an excited voice. She had a big bright smile on her face and she stood out of the room with her bright blue hair that was tied behind her head. She had a name plate over her chest that read "Tracy", and she seemed to be one of those people who were always optimistic and full of energy.

"Thank you, but I'm just here for the ... club meeting thing", Connor said and noticed the assistant raise her brows a little like she wasn't sure what he meant.

"W-with Hank Anderson?" he continued. Immediately, Tracy let out an 'oh' and laughed.

"The famous drawing nights, every Tuesday and Saturday. It's great to see people finally coming in", she said brightly and Connor laughed a little, faking it of course, just to be nice. He was right, after all. The times when the gallery hosted free drawing nights for guests were as quiet as expected. People these days were outside with their friends, at work or enjoying their own hobbies at home. There was a chance it would just be him and Hank, and it made Connor feel a little anxious. But he also felt thrilled. 

"May I get your name, please?" the young lady asked and Connor told his full name, explaining that Hank Anderson had invited him and that he had given Connor a free pass to get into the museum whenever he wanted. Tracy started doing something behind the counter, checking the screen of her computer and clicking away and Connor patiently waited, looking at the clock on his phone screen every second he could. Two minutes before the meeting would start. Suddenly, the assistant was offering Connor a white card with a straight blue line on it. The gallery's name was printed at the corner of it, almost so small he couldn't see it.

"It's your personal card. Show it at the register every time you enter and you shall get a free entry. You also need identification", Tracy informed him and Connor buried the card into his wallet. "Thank you!"

Now Connor just needed to find the way to the room where the drawing night would start. He remembered that Hank had offered to meet him in the lounge, but he was nowhere to be seen and it was almost seven. Connor looked nervously around, looking for Hank but he could not see anyone with beautiful grey locks and a beard. He guessed that he needed to ask help from the assistant behind the counter, who was already helping out another customer. He quickly apologized and leaned over the counter to ask for directions, when someone was calling out to him.

"Connor!"

Connor lifted his head up and saw Hank, quite far away, waving for him to come over. Connor smiled, took a hold of his bag's handle before darting towards the older man. Connor couldn't stop smiling - he was already so enthralled by Hank's presence that his cheeks turned red. And Connor had to admit that just today Hank looked more handsome than ever. His silver hair was in a loose ponytail, some strands hovering near his face. He was wearing a tailored brown blazer, underneath it a light blue gingham shirt with red lines. Hank Anderson seemed to be one of those people who wore shirts with crazy patterns, and Connor just loved it. The man smiled and greeted Connor, telling him to follow him. 

 

 

Connor followed Hank like a dog in a leash, finding himself too shy to say anything. He wasn't sure why. The last time he saw Hank Anderson, he was quite brave to make the first move and talk about all kinds of stuff. Now? Connor could not help but imagine the situations they could soon be a part of. As they started going down the stairs, most likely heading towards the basement, Connor kept imagining that it would be just the two of them. But before he could even think further, Connor was shaking his head and biting down onto his tongue. He would not allow himself to act like a total freak in front of his crush.

"So", Hank decided to speak out, breaking the silence between them. "I gotta apologize for being late to get you. I got a little busy. You'll soon see why", Hank tried to explain himself. Connor rubbed his hands nervously together and nodded multiple times. He had a hard time staying still when he was nervous.

"It's alright, I didn't have to wait for long", he said and chuckled. Hank turned to look at him with those ocean blue eyes through the round lenses of his glasses and he smiled, and Connor could have sworn his heart jumped a little. They continued their way across the narrow hallway before turning on the right and entering a room.

The first thing Connor notices is how large yet empty the room is. There were desks placed on top of each other at the end of the room and few chairs were sitting around the room in a disheveled order, like people who were here last time had not cleaned up after themselves. There was a large mirror next to the doorway and there were no windows. Next to the mirror, there were few cabinets that had been locked shut. The whole room was colored in different shades of grey, and the floor somehow looked slippery. It was like one of those working out rooms where people did yoga, expect now it was used for art.

They weren't alone. There was a young skinny woman with a brown pixie cut sitting on one of the chairs, smiling as her possible boyfriend or husband was playing with a child. This man was huge - even when he was sitting down he looked like a giant. He was a dark skinned man with short curly hair, wearing a tight grey shirt that clearly showed his muscles. Even if he looked like a person who could crush you with his little finger, he still looked so kind. He was laughing, cracking up jokes, giving high fives to the girl who kept running around his chair. 

"Slow down, Alice, or you will fall!" her mother - or sister? - said, yet she giggled and did not dare to stop the girl's playful time. The young girl, apparently called Alice continued circling around the man's chair, her brown hair swinging around as she laughed. Then, the man suddenly grabbed her and brought her to sit up on his lap. Alice screamed in surprise and kicked her legs around. More laughter reverberated around the echoing room.

"I've got you now!" the man said and ruffled the girl's hair. "Not fair!" Alice said and pouted her lips for a moment, but then laughed when she was being tickled.

Connor could not help but smile.

"I wanna pet the dog again!" the little girl yelled, kicking her legs around.

 

 

Dog?

 

 

Suddenly, a large Saint Bernard walked over to him and sniffed his hand, before giving a wet lick. Connor was a bit surprised, but soon he ended up smiling as he realized how gentle the dog was. Usually people, or animals too, had a scary outer shell, but inside they were the kindest people.  "That's my dog, Sumo. He is a little surprise visitor. Probably why we have so many people here", Hank joked and walked over to the nearest chair and took a seat.

"If five people is 'many people' for you, then I suppose not many people visit these meetings?" Connor asked as he knelt down next to the dog and rubbed behind his ears with both of his hands. Sumo seemed to like that, as he let out a pleased sound and sat down, his tail wagging slowly. Hank smiles at that.

"Well, it's not in the best place so no wonder why people can't find here", Anderson says. He reaches down next to his chair where there is a bag, presumably his, and he takes out a large sketchbook and three heavy looking books. He stands up and moves over to the family that decides to calm down from their playful moment. Hank gives them all a book, then rips some papers out of the sketchbook and gives everyone two sheets of paper. 

"What do we do with the books?" the woman asked, looking a little confused.

"We use them as a base for our paper, Kara. Like this", the man explained and placed the book onto his lap and pressed the paper over it. "With a steady setting, it's easier to draw!" 

Kara smiled and did the same with her paper. "Thank you, Luther", she said. Their child finally decided to sit down, expect she didn't sit down on a chair, but instead moved onto the floor and laid down on her stomach. She used the book as a pillow and pressed the paper against the slightly dusty floor.

"That works too", Hank laughed and moved over to the cabinets, taking his keys out and opening one of the doors. He takes out a small box of different kind of pencils, closes the doors and moves next to the girl. He puts down the colored pencils next to her and Alice is already eagerly picking out her favorite colors. Blue, purple, pink. Then she takes out all the colors and starts creating a rainbow. Her parents, Kara and Luther, are also offered some pencils, before Hank turns to look at Connor.

"You got everything you need? Or do you wanna keep petting my dog?" Hank Anderson asked and lifted his glasses a little higher on his nose. While he had been interracting with the other guests, Connor had continued petting his large dog. Sumo was now on his back, stomach pointed towards the roof, tongue hanging out and tail wagging happily. And Hank was sure Sumo was even smiling, if dogs even did that. The other visitors laughed a little and Connor realized he was the center of the attention. Connor turned to look at Hank with a shy smile, rubbed Sumo's belly a little more, smiling when he heard the little girl laugh so loudly.

"I like dogs", Connor laughed out before giving the last pats and standing up. He went to take a seat, opened his bag and searched it through to get out his own sketchbook and pencil case. He nodded to Hank, pressing a pencil against the paper to show he was ready. Hank nodded back to him, as expected, and he walked over to his own seat and sat down. He called out for Sumo, who lazily got up and moved closer, until Hank told him to sit down. Sumo sat down in the middle of the imperfect circle their chairs created and let his tongue fall out, the dog's heavy breathing filling the room.

 

 

"Today's session will be very simple. Draw my dog, Sumo, in any way you like. Cartoony, realistic, whatever", Hank says and takes a clean page in his own sketchbook and is already preparing for a sketch.

"Oh, Mr. Anderson!" Kara calls out for him, raising her hand up like a student.

"Please, just call me Hank", Anderson chuckles out and turns to look at the family of three. They sometimes visited with this little girl of theirs, probably just because Alice seemed to like drawing. Apparently they had ran away from their country - Hank had already forgotten where they were originally from -, and were now trying out different things to do in their free time, starting from art. Clearly it wasn't their thing, but they seemed to enjoy their time here, especially when they didn't have to pay for their own art supplies. 

"We sadly have to leave in 40 minutes or so. We're having visitors", Kara informed him, looking a little sad they would have to leave so soon. 

"That's quite alright, Kara. We will see again next Saturday, anyway", Hank said and smiled.

 

And then, everyone just started drawing in their own silence. If Connor dared to admit, it was first quite awkward. In the first five minutes, he ended up digging out his phone and putting one earbud on and putting on some calming music so he could focus. He started drawing the dog the best he could, even if it was quite a challenge when Sumo turned his head, swallowed his tongue back into his mouth, or changed his position. But Connor was fast at sketching anyway, so he got some good shots of his head. The moment Sumo laid down, Connor started sketching his body, too, having bit of a difficulty getting his paws right.

The little girl Alice seemed to enjoy her time. She giggled and laughed loudly whenever Sumo moved and she had to start again. She was using all the possible colors, making creative backgrounds and coloring the dog green. Quite often, she asked for more paper and Hank was more than happy to give her some. Kara and Luther are both smiling at each other every time Alice makes a happy sound, whether it was a hum or a whistle. Every now and then, Luther and Kara would whisper to each other, showing their drawings to each other and laughing how bad they were. But it seemed that they were still having fun.

And before Connor has even realized, it has been 40 minutes and the family is packing their things, tidying up and leaving. Alice is running first towards Hank and giving her a drawing with a smile. Hank looks at it and he smiles brightly.

"Now this is a masterpiece. Even Mona Lisa is nothing compared to this!" Hank Anderson complimented the girl and she laughs. "You can keep it!" she says while holding at least seven other drawings in her other hand. Hank thanks her and ruffles her hair a little. Then, to Connor's surprise, the girl comes to him and offers him a drawing, too. Connor looks at it. It's a drawing of a robot, the basic kind of robot that every child draws. Build out of boxes, round glowing eyes, antenna on its head, colored grey. Connor smiles at it.

"This is super cool! Thank you", he says and Alice's face lights up and she jumps up and down a little. 

"You can keep it!" she says again, before Kara is calling for her and she runs to her, immediately taking a hold of her hand. 

And the family leaves.

Leaving Hank and Connor alone.

 

 

An indefinitely large number of different kind of feelings went through Connor's system. Even if there was music blasting into his ear, the only thing he could hear was the deafening silence and the loud thumping of his heart. His visceral system was buzzing like haywire, his hands going sweaty and suddenly, Connor realized he was tapping his foot softly against the ground as it was hard for him to stay still. Connor swallowed and did his best to not look at Hank and only focus on Sumo. For a moment, it helped. Sumo was almost sleeping on the floor, his face all chubby and wrinkled. In a few minutes, Sumo snored and Connor could not help but giggle.

 

Hank turned to look at the only guest left when he started laughing. And even if it was one of those laughs that were almost silent, whatever amused him still created a smile on Connor's face, and Hank couldn't help but smile, too. To him, Connor had a beautiful laugh and the most beautiful looking smile. He wanted to hear more of it. Hank Anderson bit down onto his lip and continued sketching Sumo, focusing hardly on the shadows and the shape of his muzzle, trying to not think of anything that was inappropriate. 

But he could not help but stare at Connor.

His hair was curlier today. His lips somehow more pink than before. He looked so relaxed whenever his pencil moved against the smooth surface of the paper. 

Connor was efficient when he was drawing. Hank had noticed that he had turned the page a few times already, so he guessed Connor was quick with his hands. Barely ten minutes passed when Hank was just too curious to keep away. He was intrigued to see his works. So he slowly stood up, leaving his own sketchbook on his chair, and Hank slowly walked over to Connor with hands in his pockets. The young man didn't even look up, but continued staring down at his paper, completely focused on his work. Hank pulled a chair next to him and sat down, looking over at his drawings. 

Hank Anderson was quite surprised by the skill the young man had. His sketches were realistic, clear pictures of his Sumo, but the way he moved his pen against the paper was similar to Vincent Van Gogh's style. Shadowing created by simple gray lines put together over and over again, Connor's hand moving up and down, never smudging the paper. The way his hand moved against the paper was simply calming to look at. Without Hank even realizing, he was moving closer and finally, Connor lifted his head up. He removed that one earbud and moved his hand into his pocket, most likely stopping the music blindly with his fingers.

"Those look really great", Hank commented and looked at his sketches a little longer, before turning to look at Connor. The younger man's Adam's apple jumped up and down as he swallowed. Then, a thankful but a little bashful smile came across his face.

"Oh, thank you", Connor muttered out. His face fell down to look at his own works, and his other hand moved some of his hair behind his ears, which is something that girls with long hair did, not boys with short hair that wasn't even long enough to be kept behind your ear. "They are just simple sketches."

"Don't be so humble, Connor", Hank said. Connor loved how the man said his name. His voice was always so deep and caring when he said it. It gave chills to Connor.

"May I look through your sketchbook?" Hank asked and looked at Connor with that curious look - the raised eyebrows, eyes full of wonder. Connor could not help but just nod. He gave his sketchbook to Anderson and the middle aged man started looking through all the drawings from the very beginning, taking his time watching every piece carefully. Hank Anderson was surely not expecting the young man to be this good - he clearly had his style headed towards realism, but the way he had created his sketches had that original touch that was just his and nobody else's. There were simple drawings of detailed old buildings, quick sketches of people sitting in the bus, detailed pieces of the view in the park. Small notes from school classes there and there, meetings and time's written down. Hank smiled a little when he saw their meeting written down in big letters, the time and place written in red so it's easier for the eye to notice.

Connor just watched the man look through his works in silence. Connor felt a little nervous over the situation, his hands clenching themselves into tight fists, then loosening and straightening themselves as open as possible. Even if he didn't mind silence, it was growing too strong that it made him even anxious. The only thing Connor could think of was something that was far too soon to do.

He couldn't stop himself from staring at Hank's lips.

Connor had to start a conversation with him, or his heart would go completely crazy.

 

 

"So, Hank", Connor starts, looking down at his hands on his lap. Hank just hums as an answer. "I was wondering ... Why do you host these club meetings -"

"Drawing nights. Not really a club without any official members", Hank interrupted him, not lifting his gaze up from his drawings. Connor nodded silently.

"Why do you host these .. drawing nights, if no one ever comes here?"

Hank Anderson stopped looking through the sketchbook and looked up at Connor, almost so quickly that his glasses fell off. For a moment, Connor was afraid he had asked a wrong kind of question, something that hit a sweet spot, but then Hank suddenly laughed. A little too hard.

"I don't really care if no one comes here. I don't host these for others anymore, I host these for myself."

 

Connor was quite surprised by this answer, and he ended up tilting his head to the side like a dog. Hank made a comment about that, saying Connor looked just like Sumo now, and he could not help but straighten his posture and blush. "I'm sorry, I just ... wasn't expecting that answer", Connor explains himself, rubbing the back of his neck.

"It's understandable. Let me just explain", Hank Anderson say. He suddenly moves his hand over Connor's and grabs the pencil from his hand and writes something on an empty page, without letting Connor see what it was. After a moment, he closes the sketchbook and offers it back to Connor. Connor takes both his book and pencil back and puts them into his bag, closing the zipper tightly. He did not want to look at the 'secret message' yet, because it seemed like something Hank wanted him to read later when he was alone. Just the thought of what Hank possibly wrote in his sketchbook excited him, and Connor wasn't sure if he wanted to leave right now and read it, or stay here with Hank. 

Hank Anderson takes a comfortable position in his seat and Sumo gets up slowly and walks over to him, laying his head over his knee as a request to be pet. Hank, of course, started rubbing the dog's head and Sumo happily closed his eyes.

"The thing is, these nights here are extremely cheap. We use already used or broken supplies, and if we want anything new, I gotta be the one to pay for it", Hank begins. Already Connor felt so much respect towards this man. He admired how Hank wanted people to continue making art and even if these drawing nights weren't that successful, Hank was still trying. 

"And of course it's great when people come here and do stuff with me, that's just a big plus. But lately, I've realized that I'm not just doing this shit for others, but for myself too."

"What do you mean?" Connor asks, and as silently as he could, he pulls the chair closer to the man and leans in. Hank lets out a deep sigh. 

 

"Coming here two times a week is me just trying to me more social", Hank laughs and slams his hands against his knees, his other hand hitting Sumo on the nose. He apologizes to the dog who didn't seem to mind at all, but continued drooling a little on his pants. Connor giggled. "But yeah, I suck at being social or hanging out with friends, if I even have any", Hank continued and gave more pets to Sumo before turning to look at the younger male.

"Is there a reason why you feel anti-social?" Connor asked, but Hank didn't really answer. He just bit down onto his lip and shrugged. Connor tilted his head. Hank seemed to have a lot in his mind. 

"Personal reasons?" he asked. Connor was curious to know more, but didn't want to pry too deep. After all, this was only the second time they were talking to each other. But Hank seemed to be more comfortable with him, as he leaned peacefully against the back of his chair. 

"I just don't wanna spend all of my nights at home, imbibing all kinds of poisons until I feel better", he muttered. Hank was wearing a smile over his face, but his voice seemed troubled. Connor decided to ask no more questions as he had figured out enough already, like a great detective he was.

Recovering alcohol addict. 

Maybe even depressed.

Connor decided to be brave and he moved his hand up and laid it down on top of Hank's shoulder. His tailored jacket felt smooth, like lamb fur. Connor could see a few dog hairs attached to the fabric. Anderson turned to look towards him, his hands stopping and no longer petting the dog. Sumo whined a little and rubbed his own head against the hand on top of him, and Hank continued pressing his fingers against the dog's scalp again. Sumo loved that.

"I think it's great you're doing these club - krhm, art nights", Connor started. Hank laughed at the error he almost made. "I had a lot of fun being here. I hope you did too", Connor continued. He found it hard to comfort this man, especially when he wasn't sure what to say to him. He rubbed his thumb against Hank's shoulder and for a moment, Hank looked down at his hand. Connor blushed a little, moved his hand away and just tried to chuckle it away. He couldn't believe how hard his heart was beating against his chest over a small moment of affection. Hank Anderson seemed to notice that and he chuckled, his hand moving to rub the back of his head, fingers playing a little with his small ponytail.

 

 

"It's almost eight. I think me and Sumo need to head home now", Hank Anderson said and stood up, Sumo moving out of his way to go over to Connor. He pushed his head between Connor's legs and suddenly got up on his two feet, trying to climb up into his lap. Connor laughed, but didn't push the large dog away. Instead, he pet him some more and hugged him, giggling when Sumo gave him a lick against his cheek and pressed his head against Connor's face.

"Sumo seems to really like you", Hank laughed. He let the two of them cuddle for a moment, before he grabbed Sumo from his collar and pulled him away. Sumo whined a little in disappointment, but decided to play nice for now.

Hank was not ready for the sight he saw. Connor's hair was all messy, the curls much stronger suddenly. His cheeks flushed cheek, Connor laughed loudly, and he wiped his cheek clean from the drool Sumo had left on him. And then, he looked up at Hank with those wide, chocolate colored eyes with strong eye lashes. Connor's smile was just something pure, something Hank had only seen in artworks. To him, Connor was an artwork, fallen down from the heavens just for the world to admire him.

The longer Hank looked at him, the less Connor was smiling. And then Hank realized how weird he must have been acting. He turned around, and headed towards his own seat where his bag was. He took out the leash, called out for Sumo who happily stumbled towards him and he attached it to his collar. Then Hank turned towards the only visitor left, and realized Connor was cleaning up the art supplies that the family had left on the floor.

"Oh, you don't have to", Hank muttered to him, but the young man was no longer listening.

"It's nothing. You're working very hard to keep these _drawing nights_ going", Connor said to him, his voice a little cocky. "Oh wow. These are not club meetings, boy. It's not a club without any members", Hank said to him and laughed. Connor took all the coloring pencils and books back to the cabinet they had been taken from. He opens the door and puts them all back inside and Hank moves next to him with the keys, ready to lock the door. Not like it was needed, no one ever came down here and no one would steal art supplies that were as cheap as they could be. But Hank was always careful with his belongings.

"I just think 'drawing nights' sounds a little hipster", Connor commented as Hank closed the door and locked it. 

"Are you calling me a hipster?" Anderson asks, raising his eyebrows higher. Connor pretends to think for a while, like he is in very deep thought, humming loudly before he finally answers.

"You look like a history professor who secretly enjoys reading crime novels next to the fire, drinking expensive wine. So yes, I'm calling you a hipster", he said and Hank laughed a little too hard than he should have. Connor only laughed with him, finding his joke a success. 

Then, Hank Anderson leans against the closed cabinets, his right elbow against one of the doors, hand ruffing with his own hair, his whole large form towering over Connor. Even if they were almost the same height, Connor still felt so small next to him. And with Hank near him like this, it felt like he was hitting on Connor, in the same way as those bad boys hit on the good girl in teenage movies. Connor's face turned red, even the tip of his ears started glowing, and he found it hard to breathe. He wanted to lean in so bad, to pull Hank into a kiss and be pushed against the wall. Connor swallowed strongly and tried to calm himself down.

"You sure as hell can be cocky, Connor", Hank commented with a wide smile. He shook his head and laughed a little more. Connor chuckled, hands rubbing against each other before he grabbed the handle of his back so tightly that his fingers turned red.

Hank turned to look back at him. "You're the real hipster here", he then muttered, moved his index finger to press against his thumb and suddenly, he gave a fillip against his forehead, smacking the tip of his index finger against his skull loudly. Connor flinched from it. It didn't hurt, but even if it would have, Connor would have not cared. His crush had just touched him, playfully, and Connor could not help but smile.

 

"Now c'mon, get your ass moving, I gotta lock the doors and all", Hank said and went to take his belongings and Sumo with him.

"Coming."

 

 

 

They left the room and Connor watched as Hank locked the door and started walking towards the exit, Sumo walking peacefully next to him. Connor followed him, feeling a little awkward yet satisfied of their moment together, and started moving up the stairs to the first floor. Connor could not stop himself from smirking so widely. Even if nothing had happened, his heart was still fluttering so strongly, butterflies creating a nest in his stomach. He couldn't believe that he could ever feel this happy.

"How did you like it? Was it boring?" Hank asked.

"Huh?" Connor mumbled, not even realizing he had been deep in his own thoughts. "Oh. I liked it!"

Hank laughed. "Did you like it because Sumo was there?"

 

 

_No, I liked it because you were there. With me._

 

 

Well, that was something Connor wished to say, but he didn't have the guts to it and he knew it would have been inappropriate. "Yes, but it was very enjoyable otherwise, too", Connor said to him with a bright smile. "Although, I think there could be some music playing."

Hank Anderson thought about it for a while. "Could be a possibility, as long as the music isn't too loud. What kind of music?"

"I don't know, anything?" Connor suggested. His music taste was as large as the whole music industry. Connor's playlist had all kinds of music in it, going from Mozart to funky pop music from 2009. Connor didn't want to suggest a song that Hank wouldn't like, so he tried to come up with something both he and Hank would enjoy.

"How about jazz?" he then suggested. Hank seemed to like that idea, as he smiled widely and tapped Connor strongly on the upper back.

"I love jazz!" he said happily. Connor smiled, feeling so happy knowing that he and Hank had something other than art in common.

"And heavy metal!"

Connor fucking hated heavy metal. That was probably the only kind of music he didn't enjoy listening. He just didn't like how loud it was, how he couldn't understand the lyrics and how it just didn't fit him and his way of thinking what good music was. But he decided to keep smiling because Connor still respected all kinds of art forms, even if he didn't partially didn't enjoy them himself. And he still liked Hank so much that if he had to listen to some screaming with him in order to get closer to the man he cared so much for, then he would more than gladly do it.

 

 

Soon they both entered the lobby, walked past the counter where the blue haired assistant still was, smiling and waving them good bye as they passed. They left the building, silently, and for some reason the quiet moments between them didn't feel that awkward anymore. Both Connor and Hank admired the view as they walked down the stairs, towards the busy street. The sky was mostly covered in soft clouds, but in the horizon you could see the sky painted brightly orange, the color slowly turning to pink like it was cotton candy.

"Beautiful night", Hank commented and was about to turn right from the gallery, but then realized Connor was going to have to head the other way. For some reason, he felt a little sad he wasn't able to walk home the same way as Connor.

"I'll see you next Tuesday?" Hank Anderson asked, Sumo sitting next to his feet, waiting patiently for them to start their journey back home. Connor thought for a while. He had work that day, but if he was just able to, he could make it here in time. But his boss didn't usually allow him to leave early, just so he could go and enjoy his own free time. His job was much more important than meetings with his crush.

So, the answer would have been no. It made sense, a reasonable decision. Hank would understand.

Yet, Connor ended up saying yes.

Hank smiled. "Text me later, if you need to!" he said to him, not entirely sure why. But for some reason, texting with Connor sounded like an excited idea. "Okay!" Connor said to him with a bright smile, and finally, the two of them parted ways.

Connor suddenly realized he didn't have Hank's number. No, Hank Anderson had his number, so there was no way Connor could contact him without Hank contacting him first. Connor turned around and was about to run after the man, but he saw how far he already was and decided to give up.

Connor walked to the bus stop, waited for several minutes for the buss to come, and when it finally did, he stepped inside and took a seat next to the window, placing his bag next to him. That's when he suddenly remembered Hank writing something in his sketchbook. As fast as he could, Connor opened the bag and pulled his sketchbook out, accidentally letting his other belongings fall down onto the floor of the moving bus. After picking them all up, trying to ignore the few looks he got, Connor was finally able to open his sketchbook and find the not-so-secret message Hank had left for him.

 

It was written next to his last sketches of Sumo.

 

 

 

_Amazing works, Connor! You could really make a career out of these._

_I wish you could visit these drawing nights as much as possible. It can get quite lonely down here._

_Never stop being creative._

_Hank_

 

 

And below his name, there was a phone number.

Connor smiled, closed the sketchbook and pressed it strongly against his chest. His heart was going crazy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor starts visiting the art nights regularly, and they make Hank feel complicated about his feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly love writing this story, it's already one of my best ones. Sorry for the long wait, I've been having a small depressive episode going on but I'm doing my best to keep writing as much as possible !

Tuesday came far too slowly, and Connor swore that those days without seeing Hank were the worst. Sure, he could visit the gallery whenever he wanted now but he was busy with work, school and seeing his friends, so for now, he was completely fine seeing Hank Anderson only twice a week. Even if he yearned for more.

To his luck, his boss allowed him to leave a little early every Tuesday from now on, as long as he worked longer on Mondays. Connor could not have been luckier. 

On his lunch break at school, Connor finally decided to text Hank while he waited for his friends to finish their meals. He had saved that number ages ago, but had not dared to text Hank yet. Connor would have loved to text him, or even call him, and ask how his day was and what he was doing right now. Maybe he could have even asked the man out for some coffee. But Connor had once again been too afraid to make an approach. He didn't dare to text Hank about things that weren't related to his work, because maybe that's why Hank gave him his number, so Connor could ask whenever the gallery was holding special parties and whenever was a good day to visit. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to text Hank Anderson about personal things. But now Connor had a good reason to text him, and his fingers were almost shaking as he typed out the first message.

 

 

 

_Connor  -- 11:46 AM_

_Hey! I have work today, but I'm sure I can make it in time! What are we doing tonight? :)_

 

 

 

The smiley face was unnecessary, but it was just something he wished to add as a way of showing kindness and erasing the seriousness of the message. Connor wished to appear as a friendly figure to Hank, someone he could trust and talk to. Connor waits for multiple minutes, chatting with his friends, trying to do something else than just wait for a new message. But his gaze always fell back to his phone. Fingers tapping against the screen, sometimes pressing the button to go and check if there was an answer, but it was always a disappointment. Connor tried to calm himself down. He knew that Hank was definitely not so good with modern mobile phones. Maybe Hank had not yet seen the message, since after all he was most likely working. Maybe he was slow at typing text messages. Connor found the idea cute.

He and his friends leave the cafeteria, return their trays and the cutlery to the kitchen before leaving with laughter. Connor buries his phone into his pocket as they head towards the next classroom. While climbing up the stairs, he feels his phone vibrate against his fingers and Connor quickly takes his phone out, opens it and reads the message.

 

 

 

_Hank  -- 11:58 AM_

_No worries! We are playing with watercolors. A group of first grade students is coming over to find a new hobby or something, so watch out for those._

 

 

 

Connor cackles by himself and moves his fist over his mouth to hide his enthusiasm. He walks up the stairs and texts back the best he can while walking at the same time. He writes multiple replies in seconds but always ends up erasing them. He didn't want to come off too blunt, or too weird. He wanted to appear as normal as he could, even if his hands were sweating the more he typed.

Finally sitting down onto a free bench, posture hunched, Connor wrote a simple sentence, until Simon sat next to him and peeked over to his phone with a curious look. "Don't peek!" Connor giggles and presses his phone against his chest. "Oh, sorry, sorry", Simon says and smiles, leaning away and giving Connor the space he needed. The brunette laughs for a moment before he looks back at his screen. His face goes pale as he realizes he has accidentally pressed the send button. To his luck, he hadn't send out any weird words that his chest had accidentally typed, but he had send something that made his cheeks turn red.

 

 

 

_Connor  -- 12:01 AM_

_Can't wait to see you!_

 

 

 

Connor can't believe he just typed that out. He can't believe that he also just send it. Accidentally, but still. He tries to delete it, but it has already been send, and then seen. It was far too late to take it back. Connor closes his phone and presses it against his chest again. 

Connor was ready to smash his phone against the floor, but relented when his phone let out a soft 'beep'.

 

 

 

_Hank -- 12:02 AM_

_:)_

 

 

 

What a fortunate stroke of serendipity, a great turn of events. Connor could not help himself - he smiled widely and drummed his legs against the floor so hard his friends moved next to him, peeking over his shoulders to see the text messages. They all read them together, loudly in a chorus and then everyone is screaming at the last message. It's just a simple emoji, but everyone reacts to it like its a love confession. Markus and Josh are both rubbing Connor's back, Simon is simply smiling next to him and North - well, North still doesn't quite trust Hank Anderson, but she still gives a good thumbs up for her friend.

Connor was sure he had a keen crush on this man, and he could not get rid of it. Not like he wanted to, anyway.

 

 

\--

 

 

After work Connor was running towards the gallery as fast as he could, but at the end he ended up being over twenty minutes late. He checks in at the counter and finds his way down to the lower level and to the room they were in last time. The place was easy to find as he could hear laughter and loud speaking echoing from the room all the way down to the hallway. Connor stops at the doorway and is quite surprised of what he sees.

Just like Hank had warned him, the place is full of young kids who are almost unable to stay still. The whole room was full of ecstasy as kids were painting over a large piece of paper that had been build from multiple small ones. Everyone was pressing their brushes against it, throwing water around to create vivid splashes of colors and weird shapes. Some kids were extremely focused to create the best watercolor work there ever was, while others were covering their area of the paper completely in water, inspecting carefully how the colors mixed together and turned into an ugly shade of brown. A few kids were unable to stay still, saying that they didn't want to paint anymore. Connor saw a few adults watching over the kids, and then he saw Hank. As beautiful as ever, in his usual tailored jacket and round glasses, silver hair in a cute little bun. 

Hank Anderson notices him and waves at him to come closer. Connor bites down onto his lips and he almost runs towards Hank, a little too excited.

"Sorry I'm late, I tried to come as fast as I could", he muttered. "Ah, it's alright", Hank said to him and smiled. His hand moved up, past Connor's face and it stopped over his head. Anderson pressed his hand against Connor's hair and ruffled it, so roughly that he messed up his haircut. But Connor didn't mind at all. He found his cheeks turning completely red and when Hank finally left his slightly curly hair alone, Connor found it extremely hard to even look at him. He shyly smiles at him and fixes his hair a little. 

"Come now, take a seat. I think we can squeeze you somewhere", Hank says, taps Connor on the back and guides him to sit somewhere where there was still room left.

 

 

The room could barely accommodate a full classroom of little kids, but with a little squeezing and getting closer to each other, Connor found himself a seat at the corner of the large paper. He took the nearest brush into his hand, not caring how damaged it already was and then he reached to dip it in the nearest water cup that was already mixed in multiple colors. Hank came behind him and offered Connor his own watercolor palette, the kind of that only had six different colors that were melting away in the middle. Connor smiled at him and said a soft 'thank you', that was muffled by all the laughter around him.

He looked down at the large paper and the empty spot that had been left for him. He finds himself biting his lip and just tapping the brush against the paper for minutes. He doesn't know what to paint. Connor wasn't that good with watercolors, and especially now when there was so much noise around him and the tools were as cheap as they could be, creating something good felt impossible.

Connor wanted to impress Hank, for some reason. He wanted to create something beautiful, but inspiration was lacking at the moment. He founds himself just staring down at the paper, feeling anxious, having a crisis on what he should make.

But then, someone moves behind him and leans their head over Connor's shoulder, their hand grabbing Connor's wrist, guiding it onto the water cup and then pressing it over the water color palettes.

Connor blushes. The whole scene between them is fervent, full of care and demure movements that made Connor shiver. He couldn't help but look at Hank with a coy side-eye. Anderson looked so tasteful when he was eagerly teaching Connor, showing him what to do and what not. He carefully watched Hank's every movement - how his hand guided Connor's, how compacted their surroundings where, their bodies pressed against each other. Hank leaning his bearded chin on Connor's shoulder, mouth so close to his ear.

Connor is surprised he hasn't yet fainted.

 

"Get yourself relaxed. Empty your mind and just _feel_ things for a moment", Hank advises him, almost nonchalantly. His voice is rough and deep, completely calm. If Connor would try to speak now, he swore he would stutter. He rubs the tip of the paint brush against the darker blue color, turning the whole thing wet, before he guides Connor's hand to slam it on the white paper.

"Then just move the brush and go with the flow. Paint what you feel, instead of trying to create a picture."

It was funny, how a photographer who insisted he didn't have enough imagination to make his own pictures was giving such great advice.

Anderson turns his head and meets eyes with Connor, like he is waiting for something to happen. Connor's mouth locks open softy and he bashfully looks down at the paper. He isn't sure what to do yet. Hank lets go of his wrist, but his hand slowly falls below, moving over to the back of Connor's hand, over his fingers. "Close your eyes for me, please", he can hear Hank whisper into his ear. Hank holds his own hand over Connor's, touching his fingers, guiding his hand.

Connor did as he was told. He closed his eyes and relaxed, focusing on viewing the world around him without seeing it. He can hear the kids talking and laughing loudly around him, throwing things, making jokes, enjoying their time. He can hear his own heart drum against his ears. Then, everything quiets down and it's silent, expect from the faint breathing near his neck.  He can feel hot air tickle his bare parts, and Connor holds tighter onto the brush. 

He can feel the surface of Hank's palm on the back of his hand. Rigid, full of dents and different kind of shapes that pressed so nicely against his hand. Hank feels warm, like his body was burning up, and Connor smiled a little at that.

There's a tepid smell of something alcoholic that has been hidden under a strong perfume of some sort. Strong scent of musky wood, incense and oak moss that gently combined together, creating a sensual scent that called for a home in the middle of a forest. Bluntly said, Connor found it sexy, but he wished he could smell past that aroma and get a real taste of Hank Anderson.

 

"What do you feel?" Hank asks.

 

_You. I feel you._

 

 

 

Connor presses the brush down, first gently, then so roughly it almost broke. He dragged the brush away from his body, leaning forward as much as possible, creating a long strong blue line. He bit down onto his lip when Hank didn't let go of his hand but leaned forward with him.

Connor could feel Hank's stomach press against him. 

He let out a shaky breath. Quiet, silent, only audible for Hank.

Anderson finally lets go, gives an encouraging tap on Connor's shoulder, before he clumsily steps up and walks away. Connor slowly flutters his eyes open and looks down at the line he had created. At the point where it had started it was dark blue and the more it moved up, the lighter the color got, creating a saturated river on the paper. Connor dips the brush into the water cup again, then takes lighter blue and just starts swiping the brush over the paper, again and again. Water mixed together with color was seeping onto the paper like gentle raindrops. And soon, there was a disheveled scheme on the paper, blue as the sky and the sea. 

Connor starts painting more, choosing different colors, just creating a big mess on the paper like he was a kid too. Hank watched him with a bright smile from afar.

 

 

 

Time passes faster than light and soon the group of kids is leaving, first moving into a line in front of the door before following their teacher outside. And once again, Connor was left alone with his crush. Being alone with Hank like this made him feel a bit nervous. After all, they were in a secluded place, sheltered and private from any curious eyes. Connor would be lying to himself, if he said he wasn't already having dirty dreams about situations like this.

"Quite a day, huh?" Hank comments and stretches a little. "Yeah", Connor says quietly, his eyes carefully inspecting the man's every movement. He notices Hank looking around the room for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh. The art supplies he had provided where all over the place, the paper was sticking against the floor from the rough use of water and a few chairs were knocked over. The entirety of the space had become a dumpster in quick minutes and now it all had to be tidied up.

"You know, you can go now. You've had a long day, anyway. I can clean this up", Anderson mutters and rubs the back of his neck. Connor finds himself protesting a lot faster than he planned to.

"No, no. I'll stay. It wouldn't be fair leaving you alone with this mess", Connor says and places his bag next to a wall so it wouldn't be on their way. Hank chuckles. "You really can't take 'no' for an answer, can you?" he joked. Connor just smiled.

They started cleaning up together, getting rid of the papers and stacking them in one of the lockers since Hank insisted on keeping them. He was explaining how he wasn't a person who threw things away - he still had the art works he had done in kinder garden and he refused to throw away art supplies that were no longer usable. Who knows, you could still need those. Connor found that somehow heart warming.

One of Hank's more obvious characteristics was his inclination towards arts and the study of their history. But he also appeared to have a soft side for literature, too. 

"I never throw away things, especially books that are so old their covers are falling off", the man explained as he started picking up paint brushes from the floor. "These days it's rare to see anyone reading a book."

Connor chuckles. "Kids these days with their stupid mobile phones", Connor says jokingly, deepening his voice a little to appear as an old man. Hank points a finger at him. "Make fun of me again and I'll make you drink this water", he says, picks one of the cups that was colored weirdly brown and lifted it in the air. Connor laughs, and they continue cleaning. Connor found himself enjoying the teasing jokes, and noted to make more of those.

 

 

As they finally got the place cleaned up and all of the art supplies were back in the cabinets, Connor found himself extremely tired. He went to sit down next to a wall, leaning his head back against the stone surface. Hank made a comment about him 'tiring too easily for a young folk', and Connor told him to shut up. And then, there was thunder.

Connor's stomach was growling loudly.

"Woah. Seems like somebody hasn't been eating well", Hank comments, chuckling a little. Connor just hums as an answer and holds his hands over his stomach, feeling flustered of the noise his empty stomach had made. Hank suddenly turned around in his heels, moved over to a chair where Hank had his own bag and he returns to Connor with it. He sits down next to his body, grunting a little as he takes a good seat before he opens his bag and pulls out something that appears to be a sandwich wrapped in wax paper. He offers it to Connor, and his first instinct is to deny the offer, but Connor's stomach growls again. He is far too hungry to act all coy now.

"Thank you", he says with a smile and takes the offered snack. "I hope I'm not stealing your lunch here."

"No. Just half of it", Hank says and he pulls another sandwich from his bag. Connor smirks at him. He has a strong feeling that Hank had actually prepared two meals instead of just one, and the thought that Hank had made this refreshment while thinking about Connor made the young man smile. He removes the wax paper and takes the first bite. Cheese, ham, cucumbers, salad. The most basic sandwich you could make, but to Connor it was the best thing he had ever tasted.

"It's not the best, but it's the shit I've been eating for years", Hank tells him and looks through his bag, soon pulling out a water bottle and placing it between them. "I'm pretty fussy about what I eat."

Another little detail Connor noted down. The more he learned about Hank, even if it was just some tiny details, he swore he fell deeper into this crush. And Connor wasn't sure how long he could continue stewing his feelings towards Anderson.

"Don't worry, it's good", he reassures before he chews on the bread again, the food filling him up, resuscitating him back to the real world. "Good, good", Hank says before he continues eating too, and a comfortable silence falls between them.

 

They end up talking about books once again. As Connor had imagined, Hank spend some of his nights reading books in his living room, usually having Sumo sleeping by his feet. Just the view Connor had about that scene in his head made him think all kinds of things. He imagined reading a book together with Hank, or just cuddling against him on the sofa while the man reads, until Connor would drift to sleep. He smiled at the thought.

Hank is explaining how he loved how the pages turned yellow over time, and how nice the books smelled like. Apparently, Hank was the kind of person who pressed their face against the pages every now and then, smelling and inspecting the history of the pages. Since in Hank's eyes Connor was definitely one of those kids who read everything from their phone screen, he started explaining what books smelled like. To him, old books smelled almost like coffee and chocolate mixed together, a sweet musky scent that wafts into any book-lovers nose and lingers as a memory for days. Freshly printed books, on the other hand, had a clear scent of fresh paper and strong ink. 

"You should read a book sometime. And I don't say that in a mean way. I actually suggest you take a book and read it, 'cos they can be quite of an adventure", Anderson suggested as he finished his sandwich and crumbled the wax paper into a small ball. Another tiny detail of Hank's personality Connor liked.

"Then, recommend me something", Connor said as he licked his fingers clean. He also crumbled the paper into a ball and ended up playing with it, moving it around his fingers like he was doing coin tricks. Anderson seems to be thinking for a moment, tabbing his finger against his chin as he tries to think of a novel Connor would enjoy. "I really enjoyed 'Misdemeanor' myself", he answers and turns to look at Connor, lifting his glasses a little higher on his nose.

"What is it about?"

"It's about a woman who ends up committing a crime over a man she has fallen in love with", Hank explains. "It's a thriller novel with some crime investigations, stalking and interesting plot twists. I highly recommend."

"It also sounds like a love story", Connor comments. "It is. A fucked up one, yes, but it's still quite sweet if you look at it in a certain view. And it's written in a very unique way. Swallows you right into the story", Hank explains, grabs the water bottle and starts drinking from it. Connor watches how his throat moves when the liquid is swallowed heavily into his system.

"I didn't think you would enjoy romance novels, Hank", the young man comments bluntly and for a moment Hank is almost choking in his water. He swipes his mouth clean and coughs a little. "Hey, it's not just a romance! It has fucking blood shed on it!" Hank defends himself but Connor can't help but laugh, only vaguely aware that Hank is staring at him intently as Connor's red cheeks push out strongly when he smiles.

 

 

"We should get going then. Gotta close the doors and all", Anderson mutters as he picks himself up from the floor and collects his belongings. He offers his hand to Connor, who first just looks at it, before he swallows and takes a hold of it. Hank pulls Connor up, who stumbled on his feet and crashed against Hank's body. It was the scenario every romantic film has - two people colliding against each other, apologizing and looking at each other. Love at first sight.

It's only for a second, but Hank feels so soft and warm against his skinny form that had hard points there and there. Connor wanted to lean harder against his body, wrap his arms around him, pull Hank as close as possible. But it wasn't the right time yet, and Connor had to push his feelings away in order to act normal.

"Oh, sorry", Connor mumbles and moves away from Hank. Luckily, Anderson just laughs at him before he picks his glasses and puts them better over his nose. "It's alright. Be careful", Hank said to him, but his voice was just slightly cocky at the end, clearly teasing Connor.

As always, they leave the room, lock the door and start heading towards the front doors, climbing up the stairs and going through doors. "Sorry that today was a bit loud. It was some kind of a school group introducing kids to different kind of hobbies or something", Anderson explained himself, hands buried deep into his pockets. Connor couldn't stop thinking about those hands and how they had touched his. He yearned for that feeling so strongly now.

"It's alright. I had fun", Connor commented and smiled, a strong look of ecstasy covering his face. He knew he had enjoyed this night because of the wrong reasons, but he couldn't hide his excitement. He was so happy after he had been so close to Hank once again. "I'm inclined to keep visiting these nights as much as possible", Connor continued, and Anderson gave him the brightest smile Connor had ever seen. His heart jumped just from looking at it.

"So, you're coming here this Saturday again?"

Connor's smile faded away as he realized he had to disappoint Hank. "Sorry, no", he mumbled silently, his gaze falling down onto the floor. "I have to work every other weekend, and I'm afraid this weekend I won't be able to make it."

Hank indeed does look a little disappointed, but then he nods silently as a sign of comprehension. "That's alright. A man's gotta work right?" he chuckles out as they leave the building and walk down the stairs, sun setting down but still shining brightly over their eyes.

"But you'll be here next week?" Anderson asks and looks at Connor. Something in the way he said it made Connor's heart jump and his insides twist. It sounded like Hank wanted to see Connor, too. No, it felt much stronger than that. It felt like Hank was desperate to see Connor again. And nothing could make Connor feel more wanted, or even loved.

"Yes, I'll be back next week", Connor says, unable to break the curve of his mouth that made his cheeks blossom. He could not wait until next week.

 

 

\--

 

 

The book Anderson had recommended was probably one of the hardest books Connor had ever laid his eyes on. As he was told, it was a clear love story, a complicated relationship between two people who never talked to each other until the reader was going through the last pages. It was also some sort of a crime novel, or it at least tried to be. And every chapter seemed to end up in a way that made Connor only curious on what would happen next.

Connor wasn't illiterate, not even close, but with this book it felt like he was learning to read all over again. Every writer needed a calm space, a writing implement and some paper to be able to create the best selling story. But this author seemed to use drugs as his tools to get this story out. Connor had to repeat the sentences in his mind multiple times to understand what they meant, and some of the pages were written out like poems - just pure fervent feelings, which is something Connor respected, but not much story could fit in those beautifully placed words. And when the next chapter would start, he would usually feel like he had missed something huge. But at the end of the day, Connor enjoyed reading the book whenever he had the chance. He was reading it during his breaks, before bed and even during lunch. 

It was a book Hank Anderson had recommended, and Connor was going to read it no matter what.

 

 

\--

 

 

Tuesday finally came and Connor was walking towards the right room with the book in his hands, turning the pages slowly, realizing how close to the end he was. Connor had been reading the book as fast as he could, so he could make a conversation about it and then return the book back to the library where another poor soul would have to read it through. Connor walked the stairs down slowly, one step at a time before he continued walking through the empty corridor. He realizes that he had walked past the room Hank was in, as the old man suddenly called out for him. Connor stopped, turned around and put the book down to find the right room.

"Don't tell me you walked all the way here while reading that book", Hank laughed. He was sitting in a comfortable position, a wooden easel placed in front of him, a self-build canvas placed on it. Anderson was holding a palette in his left hand, one corner covered in fresh drops of paint, while the rest of the wooden plate was messy from old oily colors that had not washed away. Under him there were multiple newspapers as a way to prevent from any paint messing the floor. Hank seemed a little troubled about what he was working on, but when he was looking at Connor, he seemed to ease and relax.

"I read this on the bus, so no accidental car crashes happened because of me", Connor joked and entered the room, taking a chair on his way as he walked next to the man and took a seat next to him. He inspected what Hank was working on for a moment, admiring it.

 

 

"I thought you didn't paint."

"I do sometimes. I'm just shit at it", Anderson muttered, moved his brush onto the palette and dipped it in red before he continued painting, moving the brush so strongly against the canvas it would break. "Last week I spend a lot of time in that room where Carl Manfred's works are in display. You could say I got a little inspired."

Connor could see the resemblance to Carl's works on this painting. It was a messy close up to a man's torso, skinny with small hinted muscles, some bones sticking out there and there. The background was painted indelibly in a bluish color like it was a river, while the human body was in much warmer colors. It was painted extremely colorful, every color screaming almost neon, and the brush strokes were strong, almost violent against the canvas, thick layers of colors on top of each other. Hank leaned back in his seat and just stared at his work with a blank expression. He didn't like it. The proportions weren't exactly correct, his choice of colors was messy and there was no clear light source. And the person he had used as a mental muse had never been nude in front of Hank's eyes, so he had no clue if the character was too thin or too wide, too much of 'something' that wasn't a part of their reality.

"What do you think when you look at it?" Hank asked and turned to look at Connor, who bit his lip in return and laid the book neatly over his thighs.

"I can see you got inspired by Carl, yes, but there is a hint of your own way of seeing things", Connor says, trying to sound as clever as possible. He didn't want to just say the painting looked great. He wished to inspect it more, find the little details and everything.

"It reminds me a lot of Edvard Munch and his works."

"Edvard Munch?" Hank repeats the name, trying to remember if he knew any of their works without looking it up on the internet. But Connor is much faster than him. He pulls out his phone out of his pocket, searches the name up and then shows one of Edvard's works to Hank. It was a picture of a nude man standing in a river, his body painted in warm colors while the water was more on the cooler side. It looked like it had been painted in a rush, lazy brush strokes with faded color covering the canvas. Anderson raised his eyebrows at it, almost like he was impressed that Connor could name an artist like that out of his memory. He nodded a few times.

"The style is pretty similar, yes", Hank admits. He secretly wished he had his own style, instead of being compared to other artists, but painting wasn't his passion to begin with. Photographs were his thing, his own way of telling a story.

"I can see a hint of symbolism and expressionism in your work", Connor comments and puts his phone back into his pocket. Now he was sure it was clear Connor was trying to sugarcoat Hank as much as possible. It was just a fact that Connor had been studying different art movements a little better so he could impress Hank. And so far, it seemed to be working. Hank turned to look at him with a surprised chuckle, a wide smile covering his bearded face.

"You actually know your stuff. I'm impressed", Hank comments. "Care to explain why you see those particular styles in my work?"

Connor seems to be thinking for a while, as his eyes gaze at the painting carefully. "Expressionist artists sought to express the meaning of emotional experience rather than physical reality in their works. I think I can see your own emotions in this particular work", Connor explains and turns to look back at Hank.

"You sound like a machine, Connor", Hank laughs and moves his brush carefully over the palette and he lays it down onto the floor for a moment. He grabs the box of tissues he had hidden near his feet and takes a single piece of thin fabric into his hands, cleaning himself from paint. "What emotions do you see?" Anderson asks again, intrigued to know what Connor was really thinking. Once again Connor takes his time to inspect the work, before he answers.

 

"Your brush strokes are strong and the paint is thick. I think it shows you are frustrated, maybe feeling a little lost. Whatever you are feeling is ... strong, but complicated, so you decide to allow that emotion grow into a storm, instead of trying to clean it away. The colors you have chosen may be random, but they are mostly warm, so I suspect you're feeling something positive in the end."

 

 

 

Hank Anderson is quite surprised by those words. He was amazed how Connor could use such diligent words and express his thoughts so well. But Hank was more amazed how correct he was. It felt like Connor could see right through him like his mask was made out of thin ice. No secrets could be hidden from this young man who notices things like a detective.

Hank's painting of a male torso was based on Connor, or Hank's view of what his body could look like. You couldn't see the face or the private parts, but there were the tiniest hints that told the model was, in fact, Connor. Hank had memorized how Connor's neck looked like from the side, and he had carefully watched how his bony hands were carved. The strong jawline was also memorized and added to the work, the shape of Connor's lips painted right before the canvas ran out of space. The rest of the man's body had been made up, and Hank felt a little ashamed for trying to paint a nude photo of a young student who was just his friend, if the two of them were even counted as friends.

But it was his first time trying to paint in months, so he was glad he had something done.

Connor's analysis was close to what Hank had tried to achieve. He had used warm colors on the man's body to show how warm he felt towards him, while the background was darkly blue, representing grieve and the worry of rejection. Or something like that. Anderson didn't plan his works often, he just went with the flow.

 

 

"A good analysis", Hank praises him, but does not tell if his analysis was close or completely wrong. Connor just smiles, tilts his head a little to the side but Hank doesn't give him the satisfaction of knowing if he was right. Hank takes out his brush again, blends the red color together with a shade of pink he had mixed before, before he presses it down on the paper, on the model's chest. Silence falls between them, and Connor finds himself opening a book, instead of starting to paint with Anderson too.

The clock moves past seven, and it's becoming clear no one is coming in today. Even if Connor is more than happy to be alone with Hank Anderson, it still makes his heart ache a little. He imagines all those nights when Hank was been down here, waiting for somebody, anybody to come and give him company, only to be utterly disappointed. The thought of that made Connor feel uncomfortable in his stomach. 

Hank turns his gaze towards Connor, noticing that he was reading the book they had been talking about last time. And Connor was quite near finishing it. He can't help but smile. 

"My sorrow, I could not awaken. My heart to joy at the same tone", Hank muttered out a poem quietly, remembering that those lines had been printed somewhere near the end of the book. Connor lifts his head almost immediately.

"And all I lov'd, I lov'd alone", Connor continued the lyrics of the poem and they both turned to look at each other. Hank had the most satisfied look over his face, and he put his brush down again, leaning heavily back in his chair.

 

 

"You know Edgar Allan Poe?" Hank asked, raising his brows.

"I think I would be uneducated if I didn't know him, Hank", Connor chuckled out and turned his gaze back to the book. "I was surprised to find so many quotes by him in this book. Isn't Edgar considered to be the inventor of detective fiction genre?"

"I believe he is", Hank said and continued painting, even if he wasn't that good at doing two things at the same time. "His writing of mystery and the macabre were well known back in the day. He was regarded as a central figure on Romanticism. So, quite a romantic guy he was", Anderson lectures like he was a professor in a well known University, teaching something he was passionate about to students who didn't care much about it. Connor hums a little as he turns the page in his book.

"Didn't he marry his under-aged cousin?" Connor asks but doesn't lift his gaze. Hank stops his painting for a moment, and thinks. Yes, Edgar Allan Poe did marry his cousin, if Hank remembered right. He silently looks at the man next to him.

"You read too much", Hank comments. Connor lifts his head up.

"I thought you told me to read more", he says back, his tone clearly cocky and teasing. Hank only laughs at him and returns to continue his painting, not quite sure where he was going with it.

 

 

"Did you know one of his works is an acrostic?" Hank asked once the silence had fallen back between them. Connor moved his head back up again and looked at Hank, rubbing the page between his fingers.

"His poem, 'A Valentine', has a name hidden between the words. Apparently, that name belonged to a dear friend of his. Maybe even a lover, who knows", Anderson continued, rubbing the brush against the palette, then taking another color and spreading it over the canvas.  Connor only hummed as an answer, as he read whatever was left of his page before he turned it. He looked at Hank's painting again. "So, is your painting also an acrostic, with a hidden message?" he asks, inspecting the canvas carefully. Hank stops.

"Something like that", Hank confessed quietly. _No, it was exactly like that._

"A confession hidden in their writing. I enjoy works with a personal meaning behind them", Connor comments, biting softly onto his bottom lip. Hank turns his eyes towards the younger man, but can't find any words to use.

 

 

They end up looking at each other a little longer than planned. The tension between them had suddenly turned strong, jarringly uncomfortable, _sexual._  Connor repeated their conversation in his head, remembering what he had detected about Hank's work and how the painting, apparently, had a hidden meaning behind it. Connor turned his gaze back to the painting, his movements wary for some reason. He inspects it again, analyzing every brush stroke, following every curve of a line. 

He liked to imagine the painting was supposed to be him. After all, it was a portrait of someone skinny, and it was painted in such a way that Connor was sure it was meant to be somebody Hank knew in real life. Someone dear to him. 

And then, he locked every piece together. His mouth dropped open silently, his eyes widening just a little as he suddenly felt completely breathless. First, he didn't believe it. Connor told himself that he was once again overanalyzing everything. Even if his feelings were strong, they still misdiagnosed the situation. Yet, after a moment, it felt real. He had noticed how Hank had been watching him and how he was leaning in close every chance he got. He knew Hank was lonely, so maybe he was just desperate to have a friend. Or to be touched.

The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to believe it. That their feelings were mutual.

Connor looked at the painting, before he finally looked back at Hank. He was still looking at Connor, not moving an inch. The second his eyes met Hank's, he knew.

State-of-the-art confession.

 

He could just slowly lean in and kiss Hank. It was the perfect moment, perfect time and place. A part of him wanted to go for it. Connor was sure he was ready to turn this relationship around and show Hank he wanted him, wanted more. But he was under Hank's strong scrutiny, the man's blue eyes watching Connor's every movement. And he felt nervous. So nervous his stomach hurt and fingers tapped against the book. And he found himself unable to do it.

Connor couldn't implement what he was thinking about. So, he turned back to his book and pretended nothing had happened at all. Hank Anderson followed him, continuing to work on his painting.

 

 

 

Minutes pass slowly, the silence between them painfully awkward, and Connor finds it incredibly hard to focus on the book he was reading. But like this he was sure he could spend the next hour with Hank without any trouble. Pretending to be focused on a book was a good excuse to not talk about what had just happened between them. But then Connor's fear came true. He was suddenly at the last page, and as he turned it, there was nothing. The story was over, and so was his act to pretend he wasn't freaking out. Connor shut the book loudly and placed it over his thighs and he finally looked up at the clock that was hanging on a wall. Almost twenty minutes left. He let out a sigh.

"Finished the book?" Anderson asked, and Connor jumped a little from the sudden sound that had destroyed the wall of silence between them. "Y-yeah", he stuttered as an answer. He watched as Hank moved his mouth, like he was chewing on something, before he continued his painting. Hank seemed unsatisfied most of the time when he moved his brush against the canvas, always trying to fix his mistakes but never really succeeding at it.

"How was it?" he asks. Connor turns the book around in his hands and looks at the cover, a simple picture of literal nothing, the book's name written in a cheap shade of yellow that was supposed to look like gold. 

"It was ... interesting. Extremely hard to read and understand, but at the end it was good enough to make me read it until the end", Connor explained, and this time he actually meant it. He did read the book just so he could talk about it with Hank and show he had actually taken the man's advice, but at the end Connor had indeed enjoyed reading something. Maybe he would put his phone down more often and pick up a book, just like Hank had suggested. 

"I'm glad you liked it", Anderson comments and then looks up at the clock. There was little time left and he suspected Connor didn't feel like painting today, especially when there was barely enough time to get started. So, Hank put his supplies down for a moment, reached for his back and pulled out his own sketchbook, much larger than the ones Connor liked to use. He offered it to the young man who slowly took it, his hands carefully holding it like it was a treasure.

"You can look through my sketchbook while I finish this up", Hank muttered, like he was slightly flustered. He returned back to his work, mixing together two shades of blue with a spatula before spreading it over the canvas in a strong layer. Connor decided to do as Hank said, because after all he didn't want to be rude by going through his phone. He laid the book down inside his bag and opened the sketchbook, starting to look through the pages in a slow rhythm. 

Connor remembers Hank claiming he didn't know how to draw. That was a complete lie. Hank had a good vision when it came to realistic portraits. Connor moved past multiple pages with quick scribbles, drawings of window views done in a rush, yet neatly enough to add the quickest shadows. With a few more turns of pages, Connor starts seeing a little more detailed drawings. One page was just a big realistic drawing of a gun, the shadowing and all the tiniest spots on it so neatly done it was almost like looking at a picture. The page was messy as the lead had smudged a little, but otherwise the work was extremely well done, like Anderson had used hours on it. Connor turned another page, and then he started seeing drawings of Sumo he had seen the first time he attended these artistic meetings. They were detailed, but Hank had not bothered shadowing at all, which made them look a little lazy. Connor turned a page, then another one. More drawings of his dog.

"Why is Sumo wearing a hat in this one?" Connor asks as he stumbles upon a picture of Sumo with a cap on his head, drawn less seriously. Hank didn't even look away from his own work.

"Wanted to see if I could draw it", he mumbles out as an excuse. Connor just hums, and turns more pages.

"Alright. What about these 30 other drawings of Sumo wearing a hat."

Hank stays quiet for a moment before he opens his mouth.

"Fancy dog."

 

Connor ends up laughing a little too hard, his cheeks turning brightly pink from the sudden comment. Connor has to move his hand in front of his mouth in order to calm down, and he kicks his legs a little against the floor. Hank smiles at him, then laughs a little too at his own stupid comment. He was glad their humor was somewhat on the same level.

After Connor is done laughing, he continues moving the pages again until he stumbles on a portrait of a young boy. It stands out from the other drawings that were made just to pass the time. This looked like something Hank had worked on for hours, every little shadow and line done carefully and slowly. It was the usual portrait of a smiling child with chubby cheeks, bright eyes and slightly messy hair. "Who is this?" Connor decides to ask and shows the drawing to Hank.

Hank Anderson freezes.

"That's, uh, that's my son, Cole."

Connor looks surprised. He didn't know Hank had a son, or possibly a wife. A family. For a moment, Connor is selfish and feels a little heartbroken. He knew that Hank was old enough to have married someone and have children, but for some reason, even if it was a horrible way of thinking, Connor had hoped Hank would be one of those men who were still alone when they hit their old age. Connor decides to hide his feelings and smiles. It was Hank's son, after all, and Connor would love him too. And he would keep loving Hank even if he couldn't return his feelings.

"How old is he?" Connor asked. He is already imagining all kinds of things that were far too soon to be thinking about. He imagines going to the park with Hank and Cole and he sees himself playing with the young boy, building a strong relationship with him. Connor wanted that so badly. "Six", comes out a simple answer.

"So, how is his mother? Are you ... married?" Connor asks bravely. Hank forces a chuckle out to lighten up the mood. He takes a deep breath and swallows before he opens his mouth again.

"Nah, we divorced ages ago. She didn't like the new me after Cole passed away."

 

 

Connor completely stops. He feels his heart drop, everything in his body just shutting down for a few seconds. Connor suddenly feels like he had said something he shouldn't have, his curiosity ruining the mood completely. He feels horrible for bringing up such a sad memory and Connor finds himself apologizing multiple times, trying to explain how he didn't mean to bring it up. Connor feels like panicking - his hands are sweating and suddenly the air around them feels uncomfortable.

But Anderson doesn't seem to be as troubled as he is.

"Connor, it's alright. You aren't the first one to bring it up."

"I - still, I feel bad for reminding you about it. I'm so sorry for your loss", Connor finally speaks clearly, trying to save the mess he has fallen into. He feels horrible. Not because the discussion had a sensitive topic, but because Hank had lost a child. There was nothing more priceless than that you could lose, so Connor could only imagine how much pain Hank has been in because of it.

"It's alright, I appreciate that you care", Hank said and finally decided to stop painting, as the clock was drawing closer to the number eight. "It took me a long time to move on, but I feel better now, honestly. You don't gotta worry about me", Hank promises as he starts cleaning up his brushes. He gets up and starts packing his art supplies and Connor silently watches him.

"Well, I still do worry for you", he says silently. Hank stops for a moment and just looks at him, before he gives Connor a smile. "Thank you."

Silence falls between them as Hank cleans his things up, moving the wooden easel in the corner of the room, letting the canvas dry there for a few days. In the meanwhile, Connor searches for a pen in his own bag and moves over to a page that was empty. He starts writing a little note with a cute smile covering his face as he remembered how Hank had left him a message too. Connor wondered if the two of them would soon start sending little messages to each other now and then.

Connor was far too romantic, but he secretly loved it.

 

 

 

 

_I don't know if this will make you feel any better, but you are already one of the artists I look up to._

_And my opinion isn't just based on your painting I saw today, but the way you express yourself with words._

_I always seem to learn so much from you._

 

_I'll always visit these drawing nights as much as possible, I enjoy them a lot._

_I hope you enjoy my company as much as I enjoy yours._

_Never stop being creative._

_Connor_

 

 

 

 

Connor ends up drawing a little heart after his name, and before he even has the time to chance his mind and erase it, Hank is returning to his seat and Connor quickly closes the sketchbook and gives it back to Hank. He takes it back quickly and puts it in his bag, apparently not realizing Connor had written him a little message. Connor drops his pen inside his bag surreptitiously and returns to look at the older man, some of his silver hair falling over his face. Hank looked at the clock, noticing they still had a few minutes before they had to leave. With a strong swallow, he sat back down, facing Connor. He didn't first say anything, ascending silence taking over them, but Connor waited patiently until Hank opened his mouth and said what he needed to say.

"After ... Cole passed away, my wife left me because of my heavy drinking habits", Anderston started slowly. Connor immediately straightened his posture and leaned in closer, moving his hands down over his lap, pressing his finger nails against his palm. Hank took a long break between his words, and Connor never rushed him to continue. He waited, in silence, listening so carefully he could hear Hank's breathing extremely well. 

"I also ... got a little depressed. 'Little' meaning, I spend a lot of my nights at home, drinking and ... playing Russian Roulette."

Hank Anderson spoke extremely slowly, like he was choosing every word carefully, thinking about his own words multiple times before he actually said them. His voice was low and slightly raspy, his head hanging low like he was ashamed and just like Connor, Hank was moving his fingers around nervously. Connor had so much respect for Hank now, and he felt a whole new connection towards him. He felt reliable when Hank opened up to him about such a sensitive issue, and Connor promised himself he would do anything to help Anderson whenever needed.

Connor slowly extended his hand towards Hank, his fingers gently brushing over his calloused hands that were locked together. Hank watched as Connor pressed his fingertips against his hand, those skinny fingers begging to be held. And Hank complied. He moved his own hands away from each other and opened his left hand to Connor so he could grab it. With a nervous swallow and a bite to the bottom lip, Connor wrapped his hand around his and held it tightly.

"I'm so glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me all that", Connor said quietly, his other hand brushing his brown hair, one curl always falling in front of his forehead. Hank chuckled loudly, then chewed onto his lip like he was trying to not get too emotional.

"Well, I've never really had anyone to talk about it, always dealt with it alone", Anderson admits. His grip on Connor's hand tightens, and he lifts his head up. "If I'm honest, art helped me to ease my mind a little. But I guess you can't always keep things locked inside", Hank says and breathes out heavily, relieved he had finally got his own thoughts out a little. He could feel something between the two of them. They seemed to be engrossed in a mutual understanding, a trustful relationship. 

 

Hank believed that at this moment, he felt a little more than friendship towards this young man.

Sadly, he wasn't brave enough to do anything about it.

 

Hank taps his other hand over Connor's and he lets go, standing up with a rough grunt. "It's closing time, c'mon", he simply says and gets his belongings. Connor follows him, getting up from his seat and taking his belongings and soon they are both leaving. They leave quietly, saying their good byes before going their separate ways.

 

Connor's stomach is aching all the way home. He can't tell if he is excited over the hand touching, or if he feels anxious because of Hank's confession. It hurt him, but at the same time he felt glad he knew about Hank's troubles. At the end of the day, he was smiling. He felt like Hank trusted him, saw him as a friend, and he felt like their relationship had taken a step forward.

Connor knows he is in love. Deeply, passionately in love. He believes he couldn't handle such a devoid existence that would be his life without Hank Anderson.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

As Hank Anderson finally gets back home, he greets Sumo with many head rubs before throwing his stuff on the hallway, taking a beer from the fridge and taking a seat in the living room. He turns the television on, takes a sip from his beer and puts his legs over the table in front of him. Sumo jumps onto the sofa, even if Hank had tried to teach him not to do that, and the large animal cuddles next to him, moving under his arms, whining for attention. Hank rubs his side with a smile.

It only takes him a few minutes before Hank is eyeing at his own bag on the floor. It was calling to him for some reason. He swore he saw Connor writing something in his sketchbook. He found it cute. First Hank had left him a little message and now Connor was returning the favor.

Hank can't hold himself back any longer. He puts the bottle down, walks over to his bag and opens the sketchbook. It takes him only few seconds to find the written note.

 

He smiles so widely his cheeks burn. Hank looks away from the note, chuckling loudly like he couldn't believe what he had just read. He has to sit down by the kitchen table, where he reads the message over and over again. Hank's heart skips a beat and he feels himself sweat a little. His toes are curling against the floor and butterflies take over his stomach. It's like he was alive once again.

He decides to take his phone out and thank Connor somehow. You couldn't just ignore a sweet message like that.

 Hank types out one message slowly, fingers tapping against the buttons, before he sends it.

 

 

 

 

_Thank you for listening my rambling today._

 

 

 

 

He looks at the message quietly as it sends. He waits for a whole minute, and Connor still hasn't read it. He chuckles. 'So this is what it's like to be obsessed with your phone', Hank thinks to himself. Maybe now he understood why young people were always texting.

Anderson looks at the other features his messaging app had, looking through hundreds of emojis he hated so much. He couldn't understand why anyone really used them, since their bright colors looked extremely ugly and finding the right one took forever. But at the end, Hank does find something similar to an emoji he could send; a symbol. 

He presses the button gently, and bits his lip before he sends it.

So this is why people smile so much when they look down at their phone.

It's a simple symbol with so little meaning, but sending it made Hank's heart jump a little. He wondered what it meant.

 

 

**♡**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor sees a familiar face in his workplace and takes a step forward. Things turn extremely warm between them, more heated on Connor's side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I so badly wanted to make Kamski be some wannabe artist that would create trouble, instead of keeping him in character and make him successful like he is in the game. Forgive me for making him some neckbeard, sorry not sorry.  
> Also, more artistic talk. Fight me.
> 
>  
> 
> NSFW at the end.

Jericho was a small cafe that people of all ages enjoyed visiting. The employees were always cheerful no matter how much of a rush hour it was, and the place was always neatly cleaned up. It was a famous place for everyone who wanted to take pictures for their social media accounts.

On the walls, there were thick tapestries made of expensive fabrics, and old pictures painted in glory. The place had a rustic aesthetic, brown stone walls and well decorated chairs and booths. The strong smell of coffee was lingering in the air, some sweet snacks put on display with expensive prices. The lightning was nice and warm with decorative lamps and Christmas lights that hang on the walls. The place was quite full today too, people seated in red cushioned chairs near the window, drinking their early evening coffee and eating their small meals that would not fit their stomachs enough.

A small group of students were combined together in a small table, chatting loudly and leaning over the table to see the message written on Connor's phone screen.

 

"He send you a little heart emoji? Oh my God", Markus commented, holding a silver tray in his hand. Markus was wearing the same uniform as Connor - a white buttoned shirt with short sleeves and a name plate over his heart. The sleeves had black ends and around his neck there was a small bow tie. A black apron was tied around their hips and both of them were wearing their own pants that had to be as dark as possible. Both of the young men had the logo of the coffee shop printed over their right chest - a blue triangle with the name 'Jericho' written in simple cursive in the middle of it. 

"And it's the old school kind one, too", Josh commented. He leaned so close to the phone that others couldn't see anything, and after a few complaints he leaned back down and relaxed on his seat.

"The old man is learning new things with his little flip phone", North joked and moved some of her amber blonde hair behind her ear before she also leaned away from the phone. 

"I don't think he has a flip phone, he isn't that old", Connor said to her and buried the phone back into his pocket, looking around. He should be working right now, but luckily there was another worker who didn't seem too busy with his work.

 

"This means you two are getting married now, right?"

 

 

Connor almost panicked from North's comment, and she ended up punching him in the arm playfully, her glossy lips curved into a big teasing smile. "That's too soon! We haven't even...", Connor tried to say, but he found himself completely out of words. He felt his cheeks blush and his eyes fell automatically towards the floor. Connor contemplated for a moment, suddenly all kinds of scenes filling up his head. He and Hank had held hands, but that's it. It was still far too soon to jump into anything else, or that is at least what Connor told himself.

North whistled teasingly, and Josh told her to quit teasing. North wasn't still too fond of Hank, but she was slowly learning to accept that Connor was really in love with this man. And North's way of dealing with things was either teasing, joking or beating someone up. She went with the first two for Connor's sake.

"Hey, what day is it today again?" Josh asked, looking around like he actually had no idea. Markus hummed for a second.

"It is Wednesday .. my dudes", he said and smiled widely. Simon immediately started giggling while the others looked at each other, confused. Suddenly, their mouths opened and smiled as they understood the joke. All of them started screaming loudly, and then they became a combined ball of laughter, hands slamming against the table so hard their drinks were shaking and leaking over the overly decorated cups. People turned their heads towards them, some of them smiling before returning to their own drinks.

"Tell that joke to Hank, see if he remembers it", Markus suggested and tapped Connor on the back.

"C'mon, I don't think Hank would understand that joke", Connor muttered. "Of course he would. The joke has been running for years, I bet he was alive when it started", Markus insisted, his heterochromic eyes looking at the group of his friends like he wanted them to back him up. Simon showed a thumbs up to the idea.

"Why don't you try it on him? Make some references, talk about the 'good old times' or something", Markus suggested. Connor laughed a little nervously. It wasn't the first time his friends were making fun of Hank's age, suggesting Connor do things like they did back in the day to impress the older man.

"Stop it."

 

Simon took Connor's Polaroid camera that had been laying on the table into his hands and played with it, inspecting how to use it. He hummed for a moment, making a confused face as he tried to figure out how to use it, until Markus took the camera from him. "It's alright, honey, I know how to use this", he said with a straight face and inspected the blue camera carefully. Simon blushed wildly. Soon, Markus turned the camera's lens to face him and he lifted his hand high, trying to get everyone into the picture. When all of them were done posing - Connor smiling, North showing a middle finger and a tongue, Josh waving to the camera and Simon showing a small peace sign -, Markus pressed the button down. Light flashed, and in seconds the camera printed out a photo. 

They waited for a few minutes, until they could see the picture clearly, and luckily this time it was nowhere near being blurry. Simon decided to keep the picture safe until Connor was free from work.

Suddenly, the bell on top of the door was pushed and it rang loudly as customers entered the coffee shop. Connor looked to the direction of the sound. If he had been holding a tray in his hand like Markus was, he would have dropped it onto the floor.

Hank was here. Dressed up in his usual clothing, wearing a shirt with wild contrasting colors, most of his hair in a small ponytail as always. Connor blushed and quickly turned to look away, sitting down like he was trying to not be seen. North raised her brows at him.

"Go say hi!" she encouraged him. "No way! I look stupid in this uniform", Connor muttered. North shushed him and turned to look at the entrance

"No, wait, he isn't alone!"

 

Connor could not help but turn around. Indeed, Hank wasn't alone. He was talking to a young woman with blonde hair that was draped over her shoulder. She was wearing a simple blue dress and she was constantly smiling. For a moment, Connor feared the worst. Hank was on a date. But suddenly a man enters the shop and greets them in a familiar way, like he had been running after them. His skin is pale and he has his hair on a tight bun, revealing his shaved sides. He looks a bit messy, wearing a dirty shirt and some kind of a running jacket that was so brightly blue it hurt to look at it. He looks vaguely familiar, but Connor can't really put a name to his face.

"Oh my lord, is that - that's fucking Kamski", Josh whispered, leaning down closer to his friends. "Who's Kamski again?" Connor asked. Josh looked at him like Connor was the most clueless person he had ever met. Josh started slamming his hand against the table.

"Elijah Kamski used to be a professor in our school, not too long before we got in!" 

_Oh, yeah._ Now Connor remembered that name. The famous Kamski that he had been excited to meet, until finding out he was no longer a professor in his school. It had been a disappointment, but not like Connor was a big fan in the first place.

Connor looked behind him again and saw the trio taking a seat near a window, sitting down comfortably. This Kamski was holding some kind of a folder in his hands. It looked like an important meeting.

"What was he teaching?" Simon asked.

"Photography. And God, he used to be good at it. But then shit went down and he was literally kicked out of the program", Josh explained, moving his hands along the story. "Jesus. What did he do?" Markus asked and folded his arms over his chest.

"Drugs, obviously. Did you not see his face?" North joked and Markus playfully pushed her, making the girl giggle. Connor looked over his shoulder again, watching as Hank Anderson started talking to his two friends of some sort. But they weren't smiling, almost at all. Connor suspected it was a work meeting, but he turned to look away before his eyes would meet with Hank's.

"You should go take his order."

"What?"

 

 

\--

 

 

Hank Anderson sat down by the coffee table as two interested clients sat down at the other side. Chloe sat near the window, laying her hands over her legs as Elijah seated himself right by her side, wrapping a hand around her shoulders. Hank could already tell that the two of them were completely separate from each other. Chloe was polite, nice and quiet, but Elijah on the other hand was far too relaxed at a work meeting, clearly trying to show off the fact he was dating a girl as beautiful as Chloe. Most likely trying to impress Hank, who didn't care too much. "Listen, Hank. What I'm doing is amazing. I'm doing great things here", Kamski started, holding the folder tightly in his other hand. Hank leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin.

"Elaborate, please."

Kamski smacked his portfolio in the middle of the table and quickly opened it. Hank almost suffocates, and if he had been drinking, those juices would be now coming out of his nose. He knew Kamski was a photographer and was now working with high class super models, taking pictures of them for some cheap magazines no one ever read. Not the kind of job you'd expect an old professor to have, but it seemed like Kamski was doing his everything to keep photographing. But now his style had taken a complete new direction. His photographs were messy on purpose - the camera slightly shaky, the lights on the background looking like long glowing worms, nobody's face completely clear. The coloring was ambiguous, messy and jarring to look at. The worst part was that all of the pictures were vile shots of a woman's skinny body. Close up to her breasts and what laid between her legs, full body shots of her lying on top of flowers or holding up a line of lights. They were pictures that looked like Kamski had taken the night before when he was completely wasted.

Hank couldn't help but wonder what happened to this man he once even admired.

"With my works, I want to show the beauty of women and their beautiful, heavenly forms in the most natural way possible", Elijah explained, his fingers spreading the photos around the table so Hank could see all of them. Hank respected the idea, but he could never let these works to be shown in the gallery he was working in. It was far too classy for crap like this, if he dared to say such a rude thing to someone's artwork.

"Most natural way possible? You mean when they're ... drunk?" Anderson asks, raising his brows at the man who so badly wanted to be famous again. Chloe giggled next to him but restrained herself from saying anything.

"You truly have an amazing eye, Hank. You know great art when you see it!" Kamski said and clapped his hands together. Hank rubbed his forehead.  _Kamski, these are just nudes of your girlfriend_ , is what Hank wanted to say. But he had to be as professional as possible.

"Elijah, I'm sorry but-"

"Hi, welcome to Jericho. May I get you anything?"

 

 

Hank lifts his head up to the barista and to his surprise, it's a familiar face. A face he had been seeing a lot lately, even in his dreams. "Connor", Hank finds himself muttering the young man's name out, his mouth slightly locked open. Connor's hair was nicely curly, curlier than usual, those few strands of coffee colored hair in front of his forehead as always. Connor was wearing a bright expression today, forcing out a smile that still seemed so real to Hank, his brown eyes almost glowing under the lighting of the shop. 

His white shirt was tight, and showed off his bare arms, something that made Hank swallow a little nervously.

"I'll have a black coffee, a shit ton of sugar, thank you", Elijah said bluntly. "Chloe, you want anything? No? Alright."

Chloe had no time to even answer.

Connor writes the order down onto his notepad, pen dancing across the paper quickly, surreptitiously taking their orders. "Alright, and what would you want, Hank?" Connor asked, flashing a smile to him. An actual smile, instead of the pretentious one he showed to annoying customers. For a moment, Connor's eyes fall onto the table that was covered in complete impertinence, and Anderson quickly started piling the pictures together, hiding them from his crush.

"I, uh, krhm. I'll take a cappuccino, thank you", he mutters as he slides the photos back inside the portfolio, biting down onto his lip. Quite embarrassing. Connor writes the order down so quickly that even he can't understand his own handwriting, before he smiles again and leaves. Elijah's eyes follow Connor's movements and soon he turns to look back at Hank with a low whistle. Hank is clenching his hand into a tight fist under the table.

_What a vulgar man._

"Soo, what do you say?" Elijah said and spread his arms open. "Do we have a deal?"

 

Elijah Kamski, the man who used to have meaning to his name, had now become a insolent being who was obsessed on making art work that could only be labeled as abhorrent. It was clear he was no longer even trying to create something with a meaning behind it. He was just after more money. This wasn't the first time Kamski wanted his artworks to be shown in The Eden Gallery, and this wasn't going to be the first time when Hank has to turn him down. Anderson didn't like him, not anymore. Elijah always got angry when he didn't get what he wanted like he was a bloody child. Anderson would only anomaly allow Kamski to ever hang his works inside their gallery.

"No, we do not have a deal. I can't let you put these on display, sadly", Hank Anderson says and places his hands over the table, locking his fingers together. Kamski makes a face that tells Hank he is going to have an out burst of profanity.

"What do you mean? Why not?" he said, slowly becoming the bad side of him Hank was not interested in seeing today. A belligerent man who didn't take 'no' as an answer. "Carl Manfred's works will be on display for a few weeks more, and our schedule is packed anyway. We also don't have a fitting place for these kind of works", Anderson tries to explain and closes the portfolio, sliding it back over to its owner. Elijah looks down at it with a displeased grunt, before raising his gaze back to Hank. 

"No fitting place for these?" he repeated his words. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Do you want me to say what I think?" Hank asked. "I want you to say the truth, no matter how malicious it is", Elijah gritted his teeth together. His nails were almost digging onto Chloe's shoulder, who soon pushed his hand away. Hank sighed.

"Your works have no feeling in them, and they are far too vulgar to be shown in our gallery. I suggest you take your business somewhere else."

 

 

Connor was standing behind the counter, preparing their orders, carefully listening what was going on. He could feel his heart skip a beat, his hands growing sweaty. He made quick eye contact with his coworker Markus, who shook his head at him. 'Don't intervene', Markus advised with just his eyes, but Connor wasn't sure if he was able to listen.

 

 

"You're far too engrossed in your work to the detriment of your own life. I think you should try something else", Anderson tries to advice him, but fails when Elijah slams his fist against the table. People turned to look at them, the whole coffee shop turning quiet for a few seconds, before everyone returned back to their own business. Kamski laughed, the threat of him going aggressive ascending every second.

"You know, Hank, I think you're just jealous that I'm trying to put my work out there", he said, pointing a finger towards him. "I think you want to be more like me."

"Not really", Anderson says. He is about to stand up and leave, but Elijah presses his hand against the table again and Hank slowly sits down again in defeat.

"You're not even a real artist. Just a drunk man crying at home, begging for things to get better", Elijah spat at him, making the man freeze completely. Hank was here, in the moment, completely coherent and innocuous. Kamski's comment was completely irrational. Hank Anderson knew he had just said that to offend him, but he still couldn't help but feel hurt by those words. Hank hated when his weakest point was attacked like that.

 

"Sir, I have to ask you to leave."

 

Everyone at the table looked up at Connor who had entered the scene. Connor was barely holding his own feelings down. He was clenching his teeth together and his hands were folded into tight fists, and his eyes were piercing into Elijah Kamski. The so called 'artist' just looked at him before he just chuckled, revealing a row of slightly pointy teeth. He almost looked like the modern vampire, expect worse than hoped for. "I haven't done anything wrong, have I?" he bluntly said, leaning back against his seat. Connor took a deep breath.

"Your behavior is aggressive and we already have a few complaints about you from other customers. You also had inappropriate pictures in display on your table", Connor told the man quickly. He was lying about the complaints, but he would use any excuse he had to get this man away from Hank Anderson, his friend and crush, hopefully something more someday. Kamski chuckled and opened his portfolio again, showing some of the pictures to Connor.

"This is art, young man. I'm just trying to show the beauty of women, that's all!" the man muttered out as an excuse. Connor looked away in disgust, but then returned his gaze back at the vulgar photos. Just a literal close up to the lotus between someone's legs, nothing more. Hank Anderson was completely out of words, and he tried to say something, but to his surprise Connor was still able to keep calm.

"I'm sorry, but you have only used one woman as your model. Does she represent every woman and their beauty in the world?" Connor asked. Elijah didn't look so smug any longer. "Instead of photographing one certain body type, try using different models, different body types and all that stuff. And if you want to keep taking photos with no meaning behind them, then maybe you should photograph for magazines instead of art galleries."

Elijah put his photographs back into his portfolio, closing the folder securely. "Listen here, punk. Don't try to act like you know this stuff, alright?" he grunted. Hank couldn't help but smile when Kamski didn't realize he was talking to one of the art students he could be teaching now, if he hadn't fucked up his whole life plan.

"If you really want to embrace women and their looks, then show their imperfections. Not just close ups to their private parts", Connor commented. "It's disgusting."

"How dare you!" 

Connor's words had given the man a raging conniption, when suddenly Elijah Kamski stood up quicker than Connor could react, grabbing the young man by the collar, strong enough to lift him up so high that Connor had to stay standing on his toes. Hank immediately stood up, telling Kamski to 'get the fuck out of here' and to 'leave Connor alone'. Connor couldn't help but smile a little at that.

"You have some nerve to get cocky with me, son", Elijah grunted. Connor wasn't too bothered by him. He just lifted his eyebrows at him, listening how the people around them were gasping silently and just watching the situation.

"If you were a real artist, you would be able to accept criticism and different kind of opinions in your work. That's how you improve", Connor advised him. Kamski looked like he was going to punch Connor but then the owner of the place entered the scene. And Hank Anderson was grabbing him strongly by the shoulder, so he had no choice but to let go. To put his anger to something at least, he pushed Connor towards Hank roughly before collecting his belongings and leaving, his partner Chloe silently following after him, apologizing for his behavior.

"You alright?" Hank asked, his hands laid on Connor's hips to keep the boy on his feet. His face was completely red when he had been pushed against the older man's body and luckily Hank had caught him right into his arms, like Connor was a damsel in distress. Connor couldn't help but enjoy the feeling of Hank's body against him, even if he had collided against him quite roughly. Hank always felt so soft against him like a teddy bear, and his hands always seemed so caring and loving. It made him feel secure and Connor wished he didn't have to move away from him. "Yeah, I'm okay", he muttered quietly and quickly stepped away from Anderson, brushing his hair back on its place. 

 

Things were a hassle for a moment, but things calmed down quickly enough and Connor was about to return back to working, if Markus wouldn't have stepped in. He placed Hank's order on his table with a little chocolate cookie on the side and winked at Connor. "You can have your break now", he said, tapped his hand on Connor's shoulder before leaving. 

"What? Wait", Connor whispered after his friend, but he was already heading back to their group of friends. Everyone at the other side of the shop showed him thumbs up and their smiles did their best to encourage him. Connor so badly wanted to show a middle finger to them right now. With a slow sigh, Connor turned back to Hank, who was rubbing the back of his neck. His other hand then pointed at the seat in front of him. "Would you, uh, like to sit?" he said. Connor swallowed nervously, but then couldn't hold back his shy laughter.

"Gladly."

 

 

 

Connor sat down in front of Hank, laying his hands on the table and immediately playing with his fingers, making them roll over each other. Hank sat down, too, and first took a long sip from his Cappuccino. It tasted lightly sweet and burned his tongue, the frothy, creamy foam on top cooling him down a little. Hank's lips destroyed the simple heart that had been drawn over the surface of the drink, and he laid the prettified cup down on its own little plate, wiping his mouth clean with a decorated tissue.

"Uh, I wanted to thank you for stepping in back there", Hank muttered, his eyes looking down at his drink, fingers playing with the handle. "You didn't have to, but I still appreciate it."

Hank Anderson was quite impressed by Connor's input, if he was honest. Of course he had felt a weird tingly feeling in the pit of his stomach when Connor had stepped in to protect him, but there was something else that caught his attention. He was surprised to see Connor still act so professional, even if he was, too, in the verge of a mental breakdown. 

Connor was almost like a machine who had learned how to feel emotions. He was something Hank had never really seen. 

Maybe that's why he liked him so much.

"Of course I had to. He said extremely rude things to you", Connor insisted. He so badly wanted to reach over the table and touch Hank's hand again, but he stopped himself, thinking that maybe now wasn't the right time for it. Instead, he pressed his nails against the tip of his fingers until a clear moon shaped mark would be left behind. Anderson chuckled and looked up at Connor, but only for a few seconds before he was looking back down again.

"I didn't know you worked here. I was happy to see you", Hank admitted as he traced his thumb over the edge of the small cup. Connor found himself blushing and laughing a little nervously. "Ah, I never really told you. It's just a part-time job", Connor mumbled and straightened the bow around his neck a little. 

"I don't really like this uniform. I always get my shirt dirty, and I've washed it so many times it has shrunken a few sizes down", Connor decided to comment to avoid having the conversation fall dry. Hank found himself coughing a little, but he quickly collected himself. The shirt indeed did look a little tight on his chest. Hank had to bite down to the inside of his cheek to not look for too long. "It looks good on you", he reassured, once again looking down at his drink shyly. The moment he looked back up, he could see Connor rubbing the back of his neck, smiling so widely that his cheeks turned red.

Beautiful.

 

 

Anderson coughed a bit after that comment and drank from his drink again, before placing it down. He hasn't even touched his chocolate cookie yet, but for now he wasn't very hungry for sweets.

Well, expect for one.

"So", Hank said and tapped his fingers against the cup, trying to come up with a conversation piece. "Who's your favorite artist?"

It was the most basic answer every artist was asked, but it sure as hell was better than awkward silence. Connor thought for a moment before he chuckled and pressed his elbow against the table, hand over his forehead. "Is it a boring answer if I say Vincent van Gogh?" he asked.

"Not at all. He is one of the most famous and influential figures in the history of art. It would be foolish not to like him. But why him?" Hank asked and drank from his drink again. Still too hot.

"I enjoy his style. It's somehow calm and relaxing, but the brush strokes are still so full of emotion. And I find it interesting how in his life he was only seen as a mad man", Connor commented, his posture relaxing a little more, hands falling over onto his lap.  "Ah, yes. He only became famous long after his suicide", Hank said, turned his hand into a gun and pointed it at his chest. He pressed the thumb down, pretending to shoot himself. They both laughed a little.

"What else do you like about him?"

"Van Gogh looked for intellectual and artistic nourishment, as he was eager to develop as both an artist and a human being. He wasn't just a great artist, he was a great man. I kind of look up to him", Connor said, his hand ruffling his already messy hair. _Such a machine-like answer_ , Hank thought to himself. He smiled.

"That's a unique answer. Do you wish to be like him?" Hank Anderson asked and lifted the cookie up in his hand, looked at it before taking out a small bite. He slowly started biting on it, laying down the rest of the treat and grabbing a tissue to get his chin clear from any crumbs. 

"Apart from the mental and physical health issues, yes, I would like to be like him. He never gave up on art, no matter how much he was put down", Connor answered with a smile and laid his hands back over the table, his thumbs wrestling with each other. Hank chuckled.

"That's why I like you, Connor. You're quite unique with the way you think. And you almost talk like a machine. In a good way, of course", Anderson joked and drank from his cup again, this time a lot more than before. It was like he was a bit nervous and he was trying to finish his drink as fast as possible.

_ That's why I like you. _

 

Connor repeated that sentence multiple times, those words lingering in his brain like a bug. He pushed all of his priorities away, ignored his work and his friends and just focused on Hank and his words. _He likes me, he likes me._ Connor couldn't help but smile. His heart fluttered, stomach ached, mind went blurry. He had never felt this good in his whole life.

His attention was taken back when Hank had lifted the cookie and leaned over the table a little to offer it to him. Hank didn't say anything, only shook the cookie a little in his hand as to show Connor he could eat it. Connor didn't take it, not in his hand at least. Instead, he leaned over and caught the cookie between his teeth. His brown eyes were open, looking at Hank, flashing a daring hint of flirt in his gaze. Hank swallowed roughly, his hand almost shaking before he finally lets go of the cookie and moves his hand back. Connor leans back too, holding the cookie between his lips like a dog holding onto its favorite toy. He tries to eat it, but the cookie starts crumbling and Connor has to catch the pieces into his hands. He ends up holding the cookie and the crumbles in his hands, wiping his mouth clean as Hank laughs at him. Connor can't help but laugh too.

 

 

 

"God, that's sweet", Markus comments as he leans against his friend's table. "They actually get along with each other."

"We should take a picture", North suggest. They laugh together.

"Let's not. Let them enjoy their little date. Connor looks really happy with him."

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Saturday came and the clock was only five minutes past seven when Hank got a call from Kara. He stood up from the floor and walked away from Connor as to get some peace while he was talking. His voice is first bright and energetic - Hank seems to answer phone calls with such positive energy. Or maybe he just answers this particular call like this. Connor wondered how Hank would answer his calls, happily or with a tired voice.

Hank's voice seems to lower and he is tapping his foot against the ground, leaning his hip to the side. He ends the call in a happy 'good bye', before he puts it back into his pocket and returns to Connor. "What did Kara have to say?" he asked, watching as Hank took a seat on the floor in front of him.

"Alice and her folks won't be able to come today. Apparently the whole family has caught a flu", Hank Anderson said as he grabbed his sketchbook into his hands and took a pen out of his pencil case, before he pushed the case towards Connor so he could borrow a pen too if needed. Connor took out his own sketchbook and took a simple pen into his hand before pressing it against the paper.

"That's too bad. I was kinda hoping to see Alice again", Connor admitted. Of course, he was more than excited to be alone with Hank once again, but he knew how important these nights were to Hank. And he knew Hank would like to see other faces down here too. 

"She's a nice kid, always smiling and all", Hank commented. "I hope you won't be too bored now."

It was the quite opposite. Connor was far from being demented when he was attending these nights. "I'm never bored with you", Connor says without thinking first, his heart pounding after saying those words. Hank looks at him and he looks as equally nervous as Connor does.

 

"Well, today's little lesson could have been too hard for Alice to take anyway", Anderson commented. "Is that why we're sitting on the floor?" Connor asked jokingly. The moment he had come in, he had taken a chair and was about to seat himself on it, but Hank had stopped him and asked him to sit on the floor, somewhere near the large mirror. Connor wasn't sure why, but maybe it was practical for today's lesson. Or maybe Hank just thought it would be nice.

Anderson chuckled. "We're gonna be drawing each other. We're only on the floor because I wanted to."

Connor could not help but laugh at that.

"Do you draw humans often?" Hank asked. Connor shook his head. "Just some small sketches. I've never really focused on creating an actual portrait."

"Well, today you'll learn."

 

Hank Anderson inched a little closer to Connor, legs crossed over each other. Connor followed him and sat in the same position as Hank did, carefully inspecting the man's every movement. Without saying much, Hank started drawing Connor, eyes sometimes focused on his paper, before he stopped drawing for a moment, looked at the younger man before him and then continued drawing. Connor found himself swallowing. He wasn't that good at drawing humans yet, especially their faces so he felt a little lost. 

But luckily, Hank Anderson always seemed to notice when something was wrong. 

"You can start with a simple circle and two lines that make a cross, like this", Hank explained and turned his own paper around. There was a simple start of lines on his paper, just like he had explained. "The circle is your skull. The vertical line is the line that runs down in the middle of your face. Down from your forehead, over your nose, all the way down to your chin."

As Hank explained, he moved his fingers around his face, showing Connor what he meant. He pressed his index and middle finger in the middle of his forehead, before moving them down all the way to his chin. "The horizontal line is the level where the eyes are", he said and moved his fingers over his eyes. Connor nodded, showing he had understood, before he started drawing. A circle, and two lines. A good start.

 

"Now, draw simple faint lines to capture the shape of my face", Hank continued his teaching lesson after only few seconds of silence. His eyes were busy looking at his own paper, quickly switching to look up at Connor before falling back down. He ran his pen against the paper in quick confident moves before he turned it around and showed his creation to Connor. Now there was a clear jawline, extremely simple but it was working as a guide anyway. Connor nodded with confidence and followed Hank's instructions, his eyes carefully inspecting every curve and hard point the man's face had. He sketched his outlines, quick strokes against the paper creating his hair, then small movements making the details and the shadows the dim lightning created.

Silence fell between them. Connor could not help but feel nervous once again in the man's presence. They were both looking at each other, both of them trying to keep their heads high enough so the other could draw them. The fact Hank was looking at him every now and then, carefully gazing at his face, watching his every movement ... it made Connor feel hot. A few times they both looked up at the same time and smiled at each other, and Connor would be lying if he said it didn't make his heart pound.

The time is only 15 minutes over their starting time, when Connor feels like his throat is dry and he needs to say something in order to calm himself down. "Hey, Hank", he simply starts, the sound of his words more silent than he wished it to be. Connor coughs a little to get his voice back and Hank raises an eyebrow at him. He only hums as an answer, clearly focused on his work.

"Do you ever feel like that art is useless? Like, you feel like you're doing something that has no meaning in this world", Connor asked. Hank stopped his pencil for a moment and looked up at the young man.

"Art _is_ useless -", Hank started, "- but that's why it's so important. It wasn't made to have a specific purpose. It wasn't made to be sold and make you rich, even if that is a possibility. It was created for the soul and the heart of others. So, at the end of the day, your useless art still has a meaning."

Connor just stared at Hank silently, wishing he had recorded all of that. "Now you're talking like a machine", he blurted out, making Anderson laugh and lose focus on his drawing. He erased a mistake he had accidentally made, before returning back to his work.

"Why do you ask?"

"Me and Simon talked about school one day, and he was thinking about chancing his major. He doesn't feel too confident about his skills. Said something about it all being useless if you weren't good enough", Connor explained as he returned back to his drawing too. His eyes kept staring into Hank's eyes that were luckily looking down, and Connor did his best to get that same shape of them onto his paper, shadowing the small bags under them carefully, creating every wrinkle carefully. Connor found Hank's eyes extremely beautiful, and not just the colorful iris, but everything that was build around it. 

"Ah, he compares himself to others?" Anderson asked and quickly looked up to see Connor nodding. "Insecurity is a disease. Everyone is always comparing themselves to others. But the fact is that there will always be someone who is better than you. That's just how it is. You just gotta accept it", Hank explained quietly.

"Do you ever feel insecure?" Connor decided to ask, now focusing on the shape of Hank's nose, how strong and rigid it looked like, how well it fit him. Some people were unfortunate enough to be born with a big nose that didn't quite fit their face, but Hank looked just perfect with his nose like that. A lot of Hank's facial features would be considered ugly in this society, but Connor found it all unique, something that made Hank his own person. Connor had an eye for different kinds of beauty, and to him Hank Anderson was as beautiful as he could be. Like a statue, made to be imperfect. The art student realized he was focusing far too hard on Hank's face without actually creating a copy of it in his sketchbook, and he continued drawing the other parts of his face with a small hint of a blush.

Anderson seemed engrossed in his work, all of his attention absorbed by his own drawing, but he still licked his lips a little as he prepared to answer. "I think everyone feels insecure about something", he said. "I know. But what do you feel insecure about?" Connor asked, pushing the question further.

Hank doesn't look up at him. And he doesn't answer. 

"Ah, I'm sorry. Too personal?" Connor quickly tried to save the situation. 

"No, it's fine. Just something I don't really know how to answer to", Anderson said, but it was clearly an excuse. Connor decided to stay quiet for now and focus on his drawing.

 

 

25 minutes left before it would be time to leave and lock the doors. Connor could see from the mirror's reflection that Hank was doing quite good with his drawing, already working on the tiny details that you could leave out. Connor wasn't that far yet.

Another minute and Hank was the one who decided to silence was far too thick to deal with.

"I'd like to invite you and your friends here next Tuesday for a little movie night", he blurts out without even lifting his head up. Connor almost breaks the lead of his pencil. "For real?" he asks and erases the little smudge he had made. Hank still keeps his head down, not even looking up at Connor to even take reference. He kept his gaze down like he had committed a serious misdemeanor. 

"Yeah. I thought we could watch some short movies and then judge them like Judge Judy", Hank explained. "Meaning, we find the small mistakes that are often overlooked."

"Ah. Like when someone is holding a cup in their right hand, but in the next shot it's in the left one?" Connor said, finger gunning at Hank. He also turned his fingers into a gun and pretended to shoot Connor. "Exactly."

"I think my friends would like that. They've been eager to meet you", Connor says. He knows how excited his friends are for him, always supporting Connor's crush and pushing him to make a move on Hank. They've been wanting to meet Hank for a while, and now it was a perfect moment for them all to get to know each other. Hopefully without any teasing.

"Eager to meet me? Why's that?" Anderson asked, finally looking up from his paper. Connor realized what he had just said might have been a little weird, and in a single second he became flustered. He could even feel his ears warm up.

"Well, I - I've told them about these nights here and how you keep them, so - obviously they would like to meet you", Connor tries to explain himself. He notices Hank giving him a cocky look. Other eyebrow raised high up, a smirk tilting more to the side and those eyes that said they knew everything about him. Connor humbled himself to say anything after that, and he continued drawing Hank, his movement slightly rushed. Hank just chuckled at him. There was a moment when he wished to tease the young man, but he decided to not push the issue further.

 

12 minutes left.

It's silent. 

 

 

 

Hank Anderson is already finished with his piece and he turns it around and shows it to Connor. The boy's mouth locks open wide as he stares at Hank's work. "That's incredibly good", he said, leaning in closer to inspect all the details. It was messy, every line done with strong confidence, the softest spots on Connor's face done more gently. The best kind of realistic drawing you could get done in an hour. It was clear Hank had known what he was doing, drawing the outline of Connor's face quickly and then used the spare time to add the few moles he had on his cheeks, the tiniest detail of eyelashes and even the sparkle in his eyes when the light hit his face just right. 

The funniest part was that Hank had said he didn't really draw.

"Could I see yours?" Hank asked and laid his own sketchbook down onto the floor, placing the pen on top of it carefully, making sure it wasn't going to roll down. Connor's first instinct was to press his sketchbook against his chest. He wasn't as good as Hank, who always said drawing wasn't his best quality. Connor had spend far too long focusing on the detail's of Hank's face without ever actually drawing them. He had the basic sketch and small shadowing done, but that's about it.

Anderson laughed. "Don't be so modest, Connor. Show me", he said as he inched closer to him, so close until he was sitting by Connor's right side, trying to peek what he had drawn. Connor laughed and leaned away, pressing the paper harder against his body. "So shy", Hank teased him. Connor could feel his face turn into a soft shade of red, his heart skipping a beat from the way Hank had said that. His voice had lowered a little at the end and Connor could only imagine him saying that right into his ear while ...

Connor shaked his head. He couldn't think about things like that, not when Hank Anderson was still right next to him. Leaning in closer, teasing him, making it so hard for Connor to not just jump into his arms and kiss him.

Connor fidgeted a little, before giving up and showing Hank his work. He offered the whole sketchbook to Hank and when the man had taken it, Connor hid his face and turned away. Not because he was ashamed of his work, but he was ashamed of what his mind was doing to him now. He took quick breaths to calm himself down, counting slowly to ten and thinking anything else but Hank touching his body.

"This is great, Connor. You shouldn't be so embarrassed about it", Anderson said to him. Connor wanted to explain himself, but how could he say that he was so close to growing hard in his pants because of Hank? He couldn't admit that Hank was making him feel like this, at least not yet.

"I still have much to learn", Connor muttered and straightened his posture. He removed his hands from his face and turned to look at Hank who was analyzing his work, nodding silently. "I can see you haven't focused much on the shadowing", Anderson says. Connor immediately feels defeated but forces his chin up, knowing that the man was only trying to give him advice. Hank silently looks at his drawing for a moment, tilting the sketchbook a little to look at it from all sorts of angles, before he lays the sketchbook down.

 

 

 

"Alright. Turn towards me", Hank advised him and took a comfortable seat. Connor obeyed. He turned around, facing Hank, his hands wrapped around his own ankles. Hank waved his arm as to tell Connor to come as close as possible and with a nervous swallow, Connor moved towards the older man until their legs were touching. Anderson moved his own rough hands over Connor's, grabbing him gently by the wrists. He guided Connor's hands up, moving them slowly towards his own face. Connor could feel himself grow red.

"Close your eyes."

"W-what?" Connor found himself mumbling. He stared at Hank with wide eyes, not fully understanding what was happening. The moment his own hands touched Hank's face, his eyes slammed shut. He could hear the man chuckle softly.

"Just trust me. Feel my face for a moment", Hank advised. "Find what feels soft and what feels hard."

_Oh, I know what feels hard_ , Connor thought to himself, biting his lip so strongly he almost broke the skin. He gave himself a small nod before pressing his hands against Hank's face, feeling his skin under his fingertips. Hank's cheeks felt warm against his palms, and if Connor pressed down hard enough, he could feel his cheekbones, strong, slightly sticking out. Connor could feel his hands shaking, his pants growing tighter, but with a confident swallow he kept going instead of breaking away.

"Feel every curve and hill", Hank almost whispered to him, his own fingers gently pressing against Connor's small wrists, almost caressing the thin skin around the bones. Connor swallowed again.

He slid his left hand lower, his thumb running down Hank's cheek as his fingers went over to touch the side of his neck. He could feel the small hint of a pulse when he pressed a finger down. Connor's hand slightly twitched from that, but he bravely moved his hand back against the man's neck, his thumb feeling the strong line of his jaw. Hank's beard was slightly bristly and scratchy, but somehow still nicely soft if you moved your finger just over the hair. Just something Connor liked. It tickled him a little. He moved his thumb over the jaw, first feeling the untrimmed hair, before pressing down harder to feel the strong structure of his jaw. 

Connor's other hand moved closer to Hank's temple, before gently moving above his left eye. He imagined Hank closing his eyes carefully so Connor wouldn't accidentally poke him. Connor first moved his thumb over his eyebrow. Soft, thin, barely there. He then moved his hand lower, extremely carefully moving over Hank's eye, touching the eyelashes until moving to the corner of his eyes. He could feel a few wrinkles there. 

"For rough parts you can press your pen down a little harder, and for the soft parts, like the cheeks, press down lightly."

Connor was barely listening when Hank tried to advice him. He was sure Hank was actually talking a lot through this progress, but all Connor could do now was just touch. His right thumb moved under Anderson's eye, over the small bag, before heading towards his nose. Rigid, hard, strong. He slid his thumb over the strong curve of it, all the way down to the bottom, touching the hair that laid over his lips. 

"You and your sophistry", Connor commented quietly. His left hand moved back up to cup Hank's cheek, his fingers moving over the man's ear, under his grey locks. Connor right thumb moved further down from the man's nose, until it hit Hank's chapped lips and rested over the large bottom one. 

"You seem to enjoy it", Hank muttered quietly against his thumb.

Then, there was small pressure on his thumb. Lips pressing against it.

A kiss.

Connor froze completely.

 

"You should - You should actually teach this stuff", Connor mumbled quietly. He could feel Hank guide his hands back to his cheeks, making Connor hold his head.

"Really?" Anderson asked. "You'd like to see me as a teacher?"

That is not what Connor meant. But now he couldn't stop thinking about it. He imagined Hank Anderson as one of his teacher, standing in front of the large classroom, teaching the very basics of drawing or whatever. He would lock eyes with Connor every now and then, and only for Connor he would teach his best secrets. Connor liked the idea of having Hank as his teacher. Then, Connor imagined meeting Hank after class, hiding behind locked doors after everyone had left.

"I guess", Connor said, a strong gulp following his words. "You're really good at teaching."

"Mhm", Hank hummed. 

_I could teach you all kinds of things_ , Connor could hear Anderson whisper to him, sadly only in his imagination. Suddenly, Connor's mind was a complete mess. All kinds of dirty thoughts filled his head, his imagination running so strong that he could almost feel it all. Connor could feel his body grow hot and heavy, his pants extremely tight. He clutched his legs together. He was sweating, breathing so heavily like he had run a marathon, hands trembling.

And Connor was sure Hank Anderson saw it all.

 

He could feel Hank lean against his left hand. Rubbing his face gently against it. Then, he could feel Hank turn his head a little, before pressing his lips down against the group of muscles on the palm at the base of Connor's thumb. Another kiss. Connor realizes he lets out a tiny whimper and his body tenses.

Hank Anderson completely stops moving. Connor can feel the man looking at him silently, and he can't help but bite his lip. Did Hank hear the sound he had accidentally made?

He can feel Hank move again. Away from his hands, leaning forward. Towards him.

Connor can almost feel Hank's breath against his face when he suddenly turns away and opens his eyes. He only looks at the ground as he draws his hands away and slams them over his knees. "I think it's almost eight, isn't it?" Connor mumbles out and grabs his sketchbook from the floor. Hank slowly moves away from his space and looks up at the clock. "It indeed is", the old man mumbles and slowly stands up, moving to grab his own stuff like nothing had happened. 

 

Their session had come to a closure and Connor realized he was rock hard. He turns his back to Anderson, gets his stuff and when he is done packing, he moves the shoulder strap over his body and places his bag over his crotch before he stands up and starts leaving. Hank follows him, locks the door behind them but doesn't start heading towards the exit. Connor stops and turns to look at him, trying to hide his raging erection.

"I'm gonna go this way today", Hank said quietly, pointing at the end of the hallway. "My 'workshop' is here. I like to work down here because it's always quiet."

Connor remembered how Hank had mentioned about working down in the basement, so he just nodded to him. He had to get away as quickly as possible.

"Would you like to come and see it?" Anderson offered. Connor wanted to scream 'yes' until his throat would go dry, but right now was the worst moment for that. He could barely think, he was feeling extremely hot and Connor's libido was flying up to the roof. He hated it, but he needed to find a place to calm down. Seeing Anderson's working place would have to be moved for later.

"Sorry, I - I'm in bit of a rush. B-but I would love to see it next time?" Connor found his voice almost shaky, his toes pointing against each other. Hank Anderson gave him an understanding nod and waved good bye.

"See you next time. And bring your friends with you", he said before turning around and heading towards his own personal place. Connor said his quick good byes, before he swerved off.

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Connor hated doing this. The gallery was closing soon and here he was, looking for a bathroom. There was one right next to the exit and Connor almost ran inside. He went into the men's room, finding out it was one of those more personal bathrooms. No stalls, just a tiny bathroom for one person to enjoy. Connor stepped inside and locked the door, hoping that no one would be waiting for their turn outside.

He presses his body against the wall and just breaths for a moment. The bathroom was slightly draughty, but Connor still found himself sweating. Then, he was feeling a little cold. Two temperatures were hitting him at the same time.

He couldn't believe what had just happened. He got to be so close to his crush, and for a moment he was sure Hank was making a move on him. Connor repeats the scene in his mind, closing his eyes and pressing his head against the wall. He had touched Hank. A lot. Because Hank wanted him to. It was supposed to be helpful for the lesson the man was giving, but it only made Connor feel high. 

Hank had definitely kissed his hands, twice. There was no doubt about it.

Connor tried to remember what had happened before he had rudely stopped their moment. He remembers Hank leaning away from his hands, his clothes rustling as he had moved towards Connor. He had felt Hank breathe against his skin.

Had he tried to kiss him?

 

Connor groaned as his hips pointed forward, reminding him that he was so horny he could barely walk straight. With a shaky breath, Connor lowers his bag down onto the floor and moves his hands to open his pants. The belt buckle clicks loudly, the fly sounds like a chainsaw as it runs down, and then the cool air hits Connor's shaft. He shudders wildly as he wraps his hand around his cock and slowly strokes himself.

His member isn't that long and it's skinny like the rest of him. He has a small trimmed bush over it that trails down over to his stomach and stops right before his belly button. Connor wonders if his cock would be something Hank would like.

Connor's legs tremble when Hank slips back into his mind. His eyes close and he slams his head against the tile wall, a little too hard as he can feel his head pounding for a moment. But Connor ignores it and simply moves his hand behind his head, rubbing his fingers over the spot that had collided with the wall. Then, he slowly tugs at his hair.

A soft moan dares to escape from his throat. Connor strokes himself  a little faster. He does it the way he likes it - he strokes up and squeezes around the head, before he continues stroking himself. After a few seconds, he stops again and squeezes, teasing himself. He likes to imagine that Hank was loving during sex, but had his own ways of being a little rough and teasing. Just like this, gently pulling at Connor's hair and stroking him like this. Connor loved the idea.

Connor's mouth falls open as he thinks about Hank, and everything that had happened today. He memorizes how Hank's face had felt under is hands, every soft and hard spot a clear picture in his head. Connor imagines holding Hank's face before he leans in for a heated kiss. He feels like moaning again, but he slaps his hand over his face and tugs at his brown curls harder, leaving his cock alone for a moment.

 

_Don't be so modest, Connor. Show me._

 

Hank Anderson's voice is still a strong memory in his head, playing out like a record. Connor removes his hand from his mouth and returns it back to his member, stroking it now much slower, taking his time with it. His other hand lets go of his hair and falls down, playing with the rim of his shirt, before moving under it. He shivers when his hand moves over his stomach, skin against skin. Connor imagines it's Hank's hand, touching him from behind. His back arches against his touch, away from the wall, before he relaxes again.

 

_So shy._

 

Connor bites down onto his lip and looks down at his body. He strokes himself as slowly as he could, his hips gently rocking against his own hand. He caresses his stomach softly, the feeling so ticklish he twitches, stomach sucking itself in before relaxing again.

 

_Close your eyes._

 

Connor does. He imagines Hank holding him from behind, his chubby stomach pressing against him, Hank's hot breath against the back of his neck. Connor fights back a moan. He runs his hand higher, over his chest where he takes one of his nipples between his fingers and twists it.

Connor imagines all kinds of things to get himself off as quickly as possible, knowing he can't stay here forever. Connor strokes himself a little faster, thumb moving over the head every now and then, pressing hard. He feels wet, realizing he is leaking onto his hand and even down onto the floor.

He wonders if Hank has ever touched himself while thinking of him. Or if he has ever imagined something like this happening between them. Connor can't help but feel hot when he thinks about it. The view of Hank Anderson touching himself and moaning Connor's name is probably the hottest thing he has ever thought about. Connor so badly wants Hank to just touch him like this, kiss his neck until there would be bruises, whispering dirty things against his ear until he would come undone. 

He leans his head against his own shoulder, like he was shy. He could almost imagine Hank's lips pressing against his neck, just like they had pressed against his palm. Gentle and soft, loving. 

_Sexual._

Connor feels so ashamed of himself for doing this. He strokes himself harder and fights back a moan.

He shouldn't be doing this.

 

_You seem to enjoy it._

 

Hank's voice is once again playing in his head like a radio, repeating those words over and over again. Connor starts circling his thumb over the head and then he is suddenly cumming without even realizing it had been building up. The euphoria hits him like a bullet, making him shake so hard that he almost falls down to his knees. It all happens in simple seconds, but to him everything happens in slow motion. His shaft goes limb slowly, his hand wet from his own juices, muscles pulsating, tightening and relaxing. His mouth forms Hank's name but no sound comes out as he tries to rub himself against his hand, trying to experience the explosions just a little longer. His head falls down as his hand stops and only trembles against his member. Connor can't overstimulate himself. He hopes that Hank would do it to him someday.

He feels sweaty when Connor finally lets out an exhausted sigh. His shirt is sticking against his body and his pants feel like they are stuck against his thighs. He allows himself to just breathe for a moment, before Connor moves to the faucet and washes his hands clean. He grabs some paper, cleans himself and throws it in the trash can. Connor quickly dresses himself back up, making sure his fly wasn't open and his shirt had no obvious marks of his little bathroom visit.

Connor checks himself from the mirror and corrects his hair. He washes his face clean, dries it before he leaves the bathroom and runs out of the gallery as fast as he could.

 

At the end of the day, Connor can't stop thinking about Hank.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor invites his friends to the next session. He also opens up about his feelings a little too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized the next chapter would have been far too long if this was in the beginning, so I decided to make this a separate chapter so the chapters won't be too long to read.  
> This is more of a joke and not that important part of the fic, but I wanted to still add this haha
> 
> EDIT ; Made it all a little easier to read

_Connor  --  21:39  PM_

_You will never guess what happened today._

 

_North  --  21:39 PM_

_OMFG. Did you guys do it?_

_Did you at least do something?_

_Or did Hank hurt you?_

_He better not have, bitch_

 

_Markus  --  21:40 PM_

_Calm down, North. I'm sure nothing bad happened._

 

_Josh  --  21:41 PM_

_Yeah, let Connor at least tell what happened before you go full beast on his crush_

 

_Simon  --  21:42 PM_

_OK, I'm here too. I'll always be here to support you, Connor ! :)_

 

_Markus  --  21:42 PM_

_So ... Connor. What happened?_

 

_Connor  --  21:45 PM_

_So, no one came to the club meeting tonight. It was just me and Hank, alone again. (Makes me feel a bit sad for him that barely anyone visits those nights, because he is a super great teacher and really nice to everyone. It sucks.)  
Anyway. We were drawing each other tonight, and it was kinda awkward because well, we both kept looking at each other. And it was weirdly passionate._

 

_Josh  --  21:46 PM_

_That sounds super awkward._

 

_Simon  --  21:46 PM_

_I think it's quite sweet :) Markus has drawn me a couple of times._

 

_Markus  --  21:47 PM_

_It's always a pleasure to be drawing your beautiful face._

 

_Simon  --  21:47 PM_

_Gosh, you're making me blush..._

_North -- 21:48 PM_

_OKAY GAYS, shut the fuck up for a second_

_It's Connor's turn to be hella gay_

_Still typing_

 

_Josh  --  21:49 PM_

_This better be good, I should be sleeping already._

 

_North  --  21:49 PM_

_Baby Josh needs sum sleep_

 

_Connor -- 21:53 PM_

_Hank was teaching me all the way through, and he is super great at this. He has said he wasn't that good at drawing or painting, but he is so good at both. Maybe he is just insecure about his works, or himself. I admire him so much.  
_

_And he quotes stuff so well. We talked about you, Simon, and how you feel insecure about your skills (you're doing great honestly). Hank said something like ; "Art is useless, but that's why it's important. It wasn't made to be sold, even if that is a possibility. It was created for the soul and the heart of others." So, even if Hank seems to be also insecure about himself, he still gives such good advice._

 

_Simon  --  21:54 PM_

_Oh, that's so nice of him!_

 

_Josh  --  21:54 PM_

_Quite poetic, I'd say._

 

_Connor  --  21:55 PM_

_He also said something along the lines of ; "Insecurity is a disease. Everyone is always comparing themselves to others." And ... that someone will always be better than you, so you just gotta live with it._

 

_North  --  21:56 PM_

_Yeah that's super poetic_

_Does he have Instagram or something_

_where he shares shitty quotes with his aesthetic pictures_

_I'm gonna spam him with likes_

 

_Markus  --  21:57 PM_

_That place still exists? Wow._

 

_Josh  --  21:58 PM_

_Let's not interrupt the story, guys_

 

_Connor  --  22:01 PM_

_Anywayy ... His drawing of me was super good. So fucking good. And he wanted to see mine, but I was super shy of showing mine._

 

_North  -- 22:02 PM_

_LOL_

_sounds like you were comparing your dicks_

 

_Markus  --  22:02 PM_

_NORTH_

 

_North  --  22:03 PM_

_you agree with me, I know it_

 

_Connor  --  22:05 PM_

_He corrected some of my mistakes, and then asked me to touch his face. Like, apparently I don't know how to make his nose look like it's hard when you touch it, or I don't know how to make the cheeks look soft. So, he guided my hands to his face and made me just feel his face._

 

_North  --  22:06 PM_

_lmao 'it's hard when you touch it'_

_Josh  --  22:06 PM_

_North for fucks sake_

 

_Simon  --  22:07 PM_

_Oh my. That sounds so romantic and cute. I'm so happy for you Connor!!_

 

_Markus  --  22:08 PM_

_I mean, that's one way to learn. But it's fucking shit advice. Clearly Hank just wanted you to touch him._

 

_Josh  --  22:09 PM_

_Gay_

_This is too gay for me_

 

_Connor  --  22:14 PM_

_So there I am, touching his face, feeling it, my own eyes are closed. Hank is trying to guide me or something, but his voice is so dreamy, almost sexual tbh. Like he was seducing me. And then when my thumb is over his lips, he kisses it._

 

_Markus  --  22:15 PM_

_OH MY GOD_

_THAT'S SO GREAT CONNOR_

_PROGRESS_

 

_North  --  22:15 PM_

_ASDFGHJKL_

_GAY GAY GAY GAY_

_ALERT ALERT_

 

_Simon  --  22:15 PM_

_Good for you, Connor ! That sounds so sweet !_

 

_Josh  --  22:16 PM_

_And then ??_

 

_Connor -- 22:17 PM_

_I'm coming to the best (and worst part), guys, wait up._

 

_North  --  22:17 PM_

_I would send a meme here but I don't wanna ruin the mood_

_or do i_

 

_Josh  --  22:18 PM_

_Your memes suck ass_

_they are the worst shit ever_

 

_North  --  22:18 PM_

_No, you suck ass_

 

_Josh  --  22:19 PM_

_An example._

 

_Connor  --  22:25 PM_

_Then, both of my hands are on his cheeks and he almost snuggles against them, before placing another kiss against my palm. And then, I'm so sure he is leaning towards me, trying to kiss me ... I don't know, my eyes were closed the whole time.  
_

_And I chicken out and move away from him, and then it's all over and we are leaving._

 

_Markus  --  22:25 PM_

_Aw nooo_

 

_North  --  22:26 PM_

_Connor, what gives ???_

_You were so close_

_Did you change your mind about Hank ? Is he maybe not the right one for you?_

_Do I have to beat his old ass up?_

 

_Josh  --  22:27 PM_

_North you need to calm your overprotective ass up, jesus fuck_

 

_Simon  --  22:27 PM_

_Oh no :(_

 

_Markus  --  22:28 PM_

_I get it though. Maybe it wasn't the right moment. There will be more, don't worry._

 

_North  --  22:28 PM_

_There will be._

_I'm gonna make sure of that._

_Connor, I'm gonna help you with this. You're gonna lose your first kiss._

 

_Connor  --  22:29 PM_

_I lost my first kiss ages ago, North. All the way in first grade._

 

_North  --  22:29 PM_

_Yeah, but a serious kiss, not a play and pretend one_

_The ones done when you were drunk don't count either_

_This is gonna be your first kiss when you're sober_

_and in love_

 

_Josh  --  22:30 PM_

_how sweet_

 

_North  --  22:30 PM_

_and this is gonna be the man who takes your virginity_

_I don't trust him yet, but he seems to like you too_

_so I'm gonna make sure it's all gonna be fine_

 

_Connor  --  22:31 PM_

_May I continue?_

 

_Markus  --  22:31 PM_

_Yes. Shut up, North_

 

_North  --  22:32 PM_

_Fuck you._

 

_Connor  --  22:35 PM_

_So, as we are leaving, Hank invites me to his little workshop. You know, he has his own little art room in the basement area where he works on his photographs or something. But I can't go in because ... I needed to go to a bathroom to take care of some business._

 

_Simon  --  22:36 PM_

_Oh no. Did you eat something bad? :(_

_Tummy ache?_

 

_Josh  --  22:37 PM_

_..._

_Simon. No._

_My sweet fucking baby._

 

_North  --  22:37 PM_

_Connor_

_Connor_

_Did you get a hard weenie_

_Did you think about doing the hanky pankie with him_

_and you got a boner_

_Connor answer_

 

_Markus  --  22:37 PM_

_My God._

_Connor ..._

_Are you for real??_

 

_Connor  --  22:38 PM_

_Yes._

 

_Josh  --  22:38 PM_

_Duuuuude_

_b r u h_

 

_North  --  22:38 PM_

_LMAOOO this is the best thing that I've ever witnessed_

_for real Connor_

_that is so 'scene from a cheap gay porn'-like_

 

_Simon  --  22:39 PM_

_This reminds me of that one time with Markus ..._

 

_Markus  --  22:39 PM_

_Aaw, baby_

_Don't tell them everything_

 

_Josh  --  22:40 PM_

_Guys, go sext on your privates_

_Connor, tell us about your little wank off_

 

_Connor  --  22:41 PM_

_... Do I really need to go to the details?_

_I got it done, that's it_

 

_Simon  --  22:42 PM_

_Let's not push it, guys. I bet Connor feels super embarrassed about this whole situation ..._

 

_Markus  --  22:42 PM_

_Not embarrassed enough to not tell us about it._

_Do you think Hank noticed?_

 

_Connor  --  22:43 PM_

_I FUCKING HOPE NOT_

_FUCK_

 

_Josh  --  22:44 PM_

_Wow, smut mouth_

_Arrest him_

 

_North  --  22:45 PM_

_I hate Hank, but I love Hank, but I hate Hank_

_god fuck_

_if you wank off to him in the fucking gallery bathroom, then I guess it's true love_

 

_Simon  --  22:46 PM_

_Yay ^^_

_Good job, North !!_

 

_Markus  --  22:46 PM_

_Accept the gay_

 

_Connor  --  22:48 PM_

_Oh, I almost forgot_

_Next Tuesday, at 7 PM, come to the Eden Gallery with me._ _Hank is hosting a little movie night there. We will be watching some movies together and see how many little mistakes we can catch._

 

_Josh  -- 22:50 PM_

_Fuck yeah, movie night. I'll bring some alcohol_

 

_Connor  --  22:51 PM_

_No, don't. Hank has, or at least had, some trouble with alcoholism. Or so I have understood._

 

_North --  22:51 PM_

_oof okay_

_apple juice and crackers_

_those work too_

 

_Simon  -- 22:52 PM_

_Maybe we can get some chips and soda? And some candy too ! :)_

 

_Markus  --  22:52 PM_

_And chocolate hearts for Hank. In a big red heart shaped box._

 

_Josh  --  22:52 PM_

_with a rainbow dildo inside_

_just so he gets the hint_

 

_Connor  --  22:53 PM_

_God, great idea. Let's make it even more obvious that I have a crush on Hank Anderson._

 

_Josh  --  22:54 PM_

_Tattoo it on your forehead._

 

_Simon  --  22:54 PM_

_Hahaha !!_

_Don't actually do that, Connor. You confess to him when you feel ready._

_Can't wait for the movie night ! I'll be there._

 

_Markus  --  22:55 PM_

_Yeah, I'll get some time off from work so I'll be able to make it in time. I can actually bring some sweet drinks, made for kids only._

 

_Simon  --  22:56 PM_

_My boyfriend is so thoughtful <3_

 

_Markus  --  22:56 PM_

_I can also bring the candy, I think Carl has bought me a bit too much of it lately._

_Even though I don't need any sweets, since I have Simon <3_

 

_Josh  --  22:57 PM_

_Get. A. Room._

 

_Connor  --  22:59 PM_

_I got a message from Hank. GTG._

 

_North  --  22:59 PM_

_WHAT_

_TELL US_

_WHAT DID HE SAY_

_CONNOR_

_CONNORCONNORCONNORCONNOR_

 

_Markus  --  23:00 PM_

_Don't spam please, my phone feels like a vibrator._

 

_Simon  --  23:01 PM_

_O-oh ...._

 

_Josh  --  23:01 PM_

_Hi I'm Josh, 19, and I never learned how to fucking read_

_Once again, get a fucking room_

_Am I the only straight person here_

 

_North  --  23:02 PM_

_Josh, none of us are straight_

_Everyone is at least bi in this chat, don't deny it_

 

_Josh  --  23:03 PM_

_Shh, you're blowing my cover !!!_

_No but for real, am I the only straight one here_

_Yes I am. Why am I even asking_

 

_Markus  --  23:05 PM_

_We all gay here_

_You can't hide that_

 

_North  --  23:06 PM_

_Okay, but Connor_

_where is he_

_Connor_

_fucks sake_

 

 

_\--_

 

 

_Hank  --  22:59 PM_

_Today was quite impressive. You're quite good with your hands. Just wanted to check in if you were feeling alright. You looked a little pale when you left._

 

_Connor  --  23:01 PM_

_No, I'm feeling alright. I just felt a little sick from the lack of food. I'm good._

 

_Hank  --  23:03 PM_

_That's bullshit and we both know it. But I won't push the issue further ... Remember to eat._

 

_Connor  --  23:03 PM_

_I will. Don't worry._

 

_Hank  --  23:05 PM_

_I wanted to check if your friends were gonna come over next Tuesday. I'm ready to book us another room where there is a screen and everything, so we can see some movies._

 

_Connor  --  23:07 PM_

_Yes, they are all coming! They seem super excited, already talking about bringing in snacks and everything!_

 

_Hank  --  23:10 PM_

_That's great! I can't wait to see you again._

 

_Connor  --  23:12 PM_

_I can't wait to see you again, too._

 

_Hank  --  23:14 PM_

_You should be sleeping already. I hope you have good dreams. Good night._

 

_Connor  --  23:15 PM_

_Alright, I'm going to sleep if you go too. Good night._

 

_Hank  --  23:16 PM_

_Fine, let's sleep together then._

 

_Hank  --  23:18 PM_

_**♡** _

 

_Connor  --  23:19 PM_

_**♡** _

_Your last message sounds super wrong, by the way._

 

_Hank  --  23:21 PM_

_It does?_

_To me, it sounds fine no matter how you take it._

 

_Connor  --  23:22 PM_

_sflskfnklvoooosods_

_Sorry, typos._

_What I meant to say was that good night and sleep well._

 

_Hank  --  23:25 PM_

_Good night, Connor._

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and his friends enjoy their movie night together while urging him to ask Hank out on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed that some of my chapters were going to be really long if I put them together and to avoid rushing them, I decided to make shorter but multiple chapters into this story so it's easier to read! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also, spot all the references to get a nice parrot sticker.

Tuesday evening, Connor was waiting for his friends in the lobby ten minutes before seven, walking around in circles like an excited child. They had agreed to meet there a little bit early so Connor could safely show them all the right way to go to avoid anyone getting lost in the huge gallery. Josh was the first one to come in and he was carrying a backpack on him that seemed awfully full. As he opened it, it was full of his own belongings and a small bag of chips, the kind that only Josh and North loved. 

"Salt and vinegar? I am so utterly disappointed", Connor mutters, but smiles anyway. "You just couldn't bring something we all like? Ever seen a bag that just says ... salt, but no vinegar?"

Josh squinted at him and said, "Vinegar is the new Holy Water", as he stuffed the chips back inside before locking the zipper. Connor could not argue with him.

The next one to come in are Markus and Simon, holding hands and whispering to each other like they were carrying a huge secret. Markus was carrying a shopping bag in his hand, which was a clear sign they had just visited the nearest market to get fresh drinks. Not too late after them, North is barging in, her braided hair messy and loose. She looks like she had come here in a rush, which came as no surprise, as North was the one who was always late.

"I got us some soda cans, different flavors and all -", Markus says and lifts the shopping bag in his hand, "- and Simon has some candy with him, because he is sweet and should be the one carrying the sweets."

Simon blushes wildly and squeezes his boyfriend's hand tighter. He does it blatantly, waving their locked arms together so the whole world knows they are together as more than friends. Markus lifts his boyfriend's hand up and brings it over to his mouth, placing a tender kiss on the back of Simon's pale hand. Simon is laughing a little, making a smile so bright that everyone in the room melted from their cuteness.

Connor wanted a relationship like that with Hank Anderson. Or something close to that. He couldn't help but take a deep shaky breath as he prepared himself to see his crush again.

His eyes end up looking at the bathroom he had visited the last time and he quickly shaked his head to get rid of that memory and just focus on their incoming movie night. North looks at the bathroom, too, the at Connor. A devilish grin takes over her face but she decides to not say anything. Connor slams his hands together to get everyone's attention. "Good, you're all here", Connor says with an enthusiastic voice, his fingers nervously rubbing over each other. "This is very important for me, so, please, play it cool."

"I'm ready to make uncomfortable jokes about you and your crush for the whole hour", North says, straightens his hand and presses it against her forehead like she was a soldier. Connor pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

"I guess we're ready then. C'mon. I'll show you were the room is."

 

Connor takes a few steps back from his friends and turns around, but he suddenly collides together with someone and almost falls down. A hand grabs his waist, firm and rough, but then relaxes when Connor is back on his feet. He feels high when he realizes how close he is to Hank Anderson and how he finds it impossible to break away from his personal space. Hank just looks at him silently, giving him a perfunctory question of "Are you alright?", before taking a step back himself. Connor corrects his hair and he can hear his friends giggling a little.

"Hey, Mr. Anderson!" Markus greets him and waves his hand at him. "I think you already know us, so no need for introductions."

Hank rubs his chin for a moment. "This is Simon, you're Josh and you're North -", Hank listed, pointing at the person whose name he had said, remembering everyone right, "- But I have no idea who this handsome fella is."

Anderson finally points his finger at Connor, smirking in a teasing way and Connor can't help but turn as red as a tomato. He couldn't believe Hank Anderson, his crush, had just called him handsome. His friends are laughing again. Josh steps in and lands his fingers over Connor's shoulders, shaking the skinnier man a little. "But this is Connor, your biggest fan!" he almost shouted. Connor shushed at him.

They aren't even in the right room yet and already Connor is being teased at.

"My biggest fan? Well, this is an honor", Hank says and offers his hand to Connor, who takes it and shakes hesitantly. Hank laughs so loudly it echoes around the whole gallery. Connor wish he could have recorded it, because he adored it when Hank laughed. Or made any sound at all. He simply loved the older man's voice.  "I'm just kidding. Of course I remember you, Connor. Who wouldn't?" Hank continues and shares a smile blithely. Connor's friends giggle more and Connor suppresses them with a single annoyed look.

Hank Anderson just smiles and moves his hands deep into his pant pockets. "Great to see you all here. I came to pick you up since the place is different from usual. Just follow me!" he advises and instead of heading towards the basement, he is heading for the stairs that take them upstairs. Connor is the first to follow him, and as his friends kept pushing him and kicking the back of his shoes, Connor jogs until he has caught up with Hank, and he walks up the stone stairs with him, admiring the magnificent view of the old building around them. Connor keeps peeking behind him, seeing his friends follow after him and always laughing when their eyes met. He rolls his eyes and continues walking side by side with his crush almost in a docile way.

"Your friends seem ... very thrilled to be here", Hank says slowly like he was doing his best to be eloquent. "But they are a nice group of amiable crooks. I can see why you hang out together."

"Y-yeah, they are always quite energetic", Connor says, adamant from all the giggles his friends make and the quiet comments they tell each other. Anderson peeks over his shoulder as they turn to the left from the stairs. His hand gently nudges against Connor's fingers and he leans in closer. "Seems like your friends -", Hank gestures behind him with a small tilt of his head, "- are teasing you about something."

Connor swallows nervously and does his everything to ignore how his friends were gasping. He and Hank were almost holding hands while walking. Connor so badly wanted to grab his hand, but instead, he moved it away. "It's nothing", is the only thing that comes out of his throat.

 

They stop in front of a door that had been left open and they enter a small room that had a large projection screen and colorful bean bag chairs in front of it. It didn't take a second when North ran inside and threw herself on top of the seats, the bean bags rustling under her weight. "This reminds me of my childhood!" she yells out and rolls around until she suddenly falls between two seats and ends up on the floor. Everyone else enters the room too and Hank locks the door behind them. He doesn't turn the light on and leaves the place to be dark and obscure, luckily not so dim that you couldn't see where you were going. Connor stands near the door as his friends are getting their seats and placing their snacks on the ground, excited laughter coming out of them.

Suddenly, Connor can feel a hand land on his shoulder, a thumb rubbing against the bone roughly before gently sliding down. He knows whose hand it is. 

Hank runs his fingers down Connor's spine, following the meandering curve of his back like it was a map. Connor stays completely still as he just feels Hank's rigid hand touch him, slowly falling down until it rested on his lower back. Connor finds himself leaning against that touch, tilting his head towards Hank's direction, wanting more. He knows already what would happen if it was just the two of them. He can feel Hank rub his hand against Connor's back, moving a single inch closer to his bottom. For a few seconds, Hank is leaning in closer like he was going for a kiss, but he only ends up smelling Connor's hair, before he quickly breaks away and leaves.

And just like that, Hank Anderson has left Connor on the edge.

"Could one of you turn the projector on? It's right above your heads", Anderson asks and moves to sit on the table that was located on the corner of the room and he wiggles the mouse around for a moment before the blue light of the screen hit his face. 

"We are all short as hell, Mr. Anderson", Josh complains. "Please, just call me Hank. Here, take my chair."

When they have moved the bean bag chairs out of the way, Josh is able to turn the projector on and soon they can see a web page illuminated over the projection screen. Anderson takes his chair back and seats himself back in front of the screen. The young adults get seated in the front row, taking comfortable seats and placing their drinks and food in front of them on the floor. Connor sits down too, right in the middle while his fingers are vigorously pressing against his phone screen.

 

 

 

_Connor  --  19:02 PM_

_Hank Anderson just touched my back. In a super hot way. I'm going to DIE._

 

 

 

North looks at her phone, then shows it around to her friends who read the message quickly. Everyone is suddenly snickering and Connor has to shush them before Hank even notices that something is going on. A single minute passes and Connor realizes Hank Anderson is just like any other adult who has no idea about how technology works. He moves the mouse slowly, squints at the screen and takes his time typing out the right website. Connor finds it cute and he can't help but stare.

"Hank, what flavored drink you want?" Markus asked as he started offering drinks for everyone. "Any will do", he answers back and continues clicking through the internet. Markus offers Connor a purple can that still feels cold against his skin and gestures at the older man. Connor halts and shakes his head, but his friends are drumming their hands against his back and he has to stand up or the teasing would continue. Connor walks over to Hank and silently offers him the drink.

"Thank you", Hank says and grabs the can. He makes sure his fingers run over Connor's before he moves away and lays the can on his table, circling it around. "Grape soda, huh? Never had one of these before", Hank comments and returns to look at the screen, getting the movies going on as fast as possible.

"I think it's a new flavor ... I bet Markus just picked all kinds of flavors just so he could make a rainbow out of the cans", Connor commented and looked back at his friends. Simon has created a gaudy rainbow with their drinks, and North is taking a photo of it. As expected. 

"Thanks for the drink, Connor", Anderson says and he clicks on a video, pauses it and makes it big so it covers the whole screen. "Go take a seat."

 

 

It was exactly like those movie nights at school where you watch something from the old projector that flashed in the darkness. Everyone always gathered around on the floor and looked up at the screen until their necks were aching. Expect this was much better when the seats were comfortable, you had food and company, and you were watching something interesting. Josh loudly opens the bag of chips and takes a few into his mouth, the sound of them crushing between his teeth filling the room. In order to not disturb the movie, Simon decides to silently open the bag of candy that had only one flavor Connor himself liked, and he places it in the middle where everyone could reach for it.

"As you know the drill, we're gonna watch some short movies tonight. But there is a catch to it. We're gonna watch them carefully -", Hank points up a finger, "- and find every possible mistake we can catch."

"What kind of mistakes we are looking for again?" Markus asks, taking a quick sip from his lemon flavored drink.

"All kinds of. Continuity errors, plot holes, anachronisms -", Hank Anderson starts listing, but he is quickly interrupted. "I have no idea what any of those are", North mutters and thrums her left foot against the floor. Hank pinches the bridge of his nose, but then cackles.

"Continuity errors are when ... you know, I'm gonna show you."

Hank stands up with the drink in his hand and moves in front of the screen, the paused film illuminating over his face and body and Connor can feel his mouth open slightly. Hank looked so beautiful in this lightning and the man didn't even know. The black and white colors of a view that had not yet focused completely were shining over his form, making Hank look like he was part of the movie. Weirdly beautiful. Once again, Connor could not help but stare, and he secretly wished he could take a quick photo without being noticed.

"Let's imagine that the camera is pointing at me. I'm holding my drink in my right hand, as you can see", he started and lifted his right hand, tilting his drink to the side a little. "Then, the camera turns to ... Connor, for example."

Hank points at Connor who hopes that no one can see his sheepish face under the dim lightning. Connor bites down onto his lip and fixes his hair a little like someone was actually filming him. He can feel Markus poke him to the side playfully and he almost jumps from the sudden contact.

"When the camera turns back to me, my drink -", Anderson moves his grape soda into his other hand in a swift movement, "- is suddenly in my left hand." Everyone makes a loud 'oh' sound as to tell they had understood. 

"Now, anachronism means something existing out of its timezone. Like someone from the stone age suddenly using a mobile phone or anything that wasn't yet invited back then", Hank continues explaining concisely like he was a teacher with a limited time. Well, he was acting like a real professor and they indeed did have a limited time, so he was not wasting any time to explain everything in big detail.

"Nothing was invented in the stone age", North comments.

"They invented making the fucking fire, North", Josh said back. Hank can't help but laugh with the others.

"Now, plot holes are extremely simple. For example, I shoot Connor dead, but later we can see him in the background for some reason like he is some kind of a ghost", Anderson explains, turns his free hand into a gun and steps closer. He points it right between Connor's eyebrows and pretends to shoot him. 

"God, I wish that were me", Josh says quietly. Connor pretends to die and he falls down onto the bean bag chair, letting his body go limp. They laugh at him, and for once, Connor is able to laugh with them too. He sits back up and looks at Hank with a smile that almost begged for more attention.

 

 

Hank looks at Connor almost owlishly for a second before he goes back to his seat and opens his drink with a loud 'click' and the drink effervesces loudly. "This first film is called 'Colorful'. It's a very simple one, but I want you to keep a look at the details", Hank informs them before he gives a strong click with the mouse and the movie starts playing.

 

There are multiple, long lasting shots of a quiet town that is colored in black and white. Everyone is going about their boring, mundane daily schedules. The light turns red - or for the human eye it's more like a dark shade of grey -, and for a moment the whole world seems to come into an abrupt stop, until the light changes again and the people continue crossing the silent street. The camera focuses on a lonely man who slowly walks on the street, hands deep in his pockets, face almost hidden under his trilby hat. The man suddenly takes out a coin, rolls it in his fingers and swings it up into the air.

The world turns colorful but no one seems to notice. The man catches the coin back into his hand, and everything is once again back to black and white. He swings the coin again and color starts spurting out of every corner and piece of clothing that was around him. He continues walking, tossing the coin in his hand. A smile appears into his face as he enjoys the vivid colors around him.

He passes a man who is sitting on the ground in dragged clothing and jagged teeth. He has an old dirty hat placed between his legs, a few coins and a single bill inside, and he gives the frozen passenger a perfunctory nod. The man with the coin tosses it again and rolls it around in his finger. His world is colorful and it makes him smile. But he looks down at the detestable man who only has little cash collected in his hat, and with a confident resistant smile, he tosses the coin into the hat. The world turns less colorful slowly as the man continues his way. There is uncertainty in his face, but he smiles anyway.

The homeless man lifts up the coin, everything completely grey until he also tosses it into the air. His eyes turn blue, and the movie ends.

 

 

 

Everyone claps and the movie starts scrolling the names of the people who worked on it. Hank pauses the video and stands up. "Now, did any of you see the little mistake?" he asks. Everyone is shaking their head in silence. North stuffs more chips into her mouth. Anderson moves to the beginning of the video and shows the man when he is looking at the coin in his hand.

 

"The coin changes. Most of the time, he is holding a quarter, as you can see in this close up, but ...", Anderson explains and he skips to the part when the coin falls into the homeless man's hat. "Now, it's a clear nickel. Not too big of a change, because it happens so quickly but it's still there."

"Other mistakes can be also found, like someone walks past the main character, but then later we come across him again reading a newspaper. And the homeless man is sitting in a different position at the end. Small details that people often miss, but if you look carefully, you'll find them."

As Hank is scrolling through the movie and showing the parts where he had spotted a mistake, Simon leans over his boyfriend's lap and makes a quick eye contact with Connor. "Your boyfriend is so clever", he whispers. Connor smacks his hand against his head and ruffles his blond air. Connor is already so done with all the teasing, but he can't help but like the sound of a 'boyfriend'. He looks at Hank quickly, realizing he is looking back at him. Like he had heard their conversation. Connor almost spasms and quickly looks away down at the floor, his hands tapping against his can. 

He likes the idea of watching a movie together with Hank here. Instead of having him sitting by the screen, he would sit on the bean bag chairs with him, and Connor's friends wouldn't be around to tease them. Connor finds himself biting his lip the more he thinks about it. He imagines sitting between Hank's legs, body completely pressed against him, Hank's arms around him, his face pressed against his neck. They would watch something that they both liked, making jokes and comments while watching it.

Hank would definitely keep explaining about the movie, stating out every fact he had memorized just so he could whisper them into Connor's ear. He would kiss Connor every now and then, always keeping a smile in his face.

Hank's hands would move lower. And lower.

Connor bits down harder. He picked up his drink and took a ravenous sip from it to calm his thirst. He can't be thinking about stuff like that when his friends and Hank especially were around.

 

"What do you think was the meaning of that movie?" Hank Anderson asks. Everyone starts suggesting their own ideas, explaining how they saw the story go. But most of them were blurted out as jokes. "How about you, Connor?" Hank decides to ask. He slowly removes his glasses and cleans the lenses against the hem of his shirt, and brings them back up again. But he doesn't place them over his nose. Instead, he opens his mouth slightly and gently bites down onto the temples. His ocean colored eyes were piercing into Connor and the young man felt even hotter under the collar.

"Come on, Connor. Open up your great mind", Markus teases him and pokes him to the side again, making him jump. Hank noted his reaction down carefully. 

"I think it represents about ... giving up on something that is important to you, so you can make someone else happier", Connor explains and swallows nervously. "Seeing all the colors made the main character happy for a moment, but he didn't really need it. So, he gave the ... magical coin to someone who had nothing at all."

"That's quite good", Hank comments and finally puts his round glasses over his nose. "You are quite eloquent, Connor."

As everyone is poking and whispering at Connor, he indignantly tells them to all shut up until the second movie would start playing. Connor stuffs some candy in his mouth while Hank prepares the second film.

 

 

 

"The second film is a bit different. It's a stop motion film. Does anyone here know what that is?"

Simon lifts his hand up, and Hank gives him a permission to speak. Just like a teacher. "It's when a series of frames is played back as a fast sequence, like the objects appear to be in motion when in real life they are completely still", the young man explains. His boyfriend rubs his shoulder with a proud smile.

"Simply put, you take like three thousands pictures of an object you have been moving a little bit after every photo, and then you put them all together to make it into a video", North steps in. "We did a film at school using paper stars and other origami figures. It was a fucking pain to move them all the time."

"Connor and Simon did the paper work, if you get what I mean", Josh jokes.

"That joke was horrible", North says, but still laughs at it.

Josh just nods strongly and mouths 'I know'.

Hank Anderson starts the film and everyone attacks their drinks and snacks again.

 

 

The film has a pair of puppets sitting together in a living room. A thready sound is playing on the background for a moment, before the volume starts rising, almost so loud it hurts the ears. The tiny furniture in the room starts spinning and the camera inches closer to the other puppet, until the lens hits its face. It's dark for a long moment, but finally, the sound starts ringing and the camera is focusing on the doll's face again. Something red is on its face now, something that looks a lot like cotton. It starts disappearing into the doll's face, and North is making a joke related to drugs. They laugh a little. 

The film is long and silent, almost painful to watch. But everyone laughs at the obvious mistake the film has - in multiple shots, there is a weird shadow on top of the puppets, and sometimes even a finger has accidentally slipped into the picture.

Near the end, the camera finally focuses more on the second puppet in the room. They have been silently taking care of the first puppet who has been inhaling red cotton quite a lot. At the last minute of the movie, the two puppets kiss, and instead of the weird humming sound, a soft piano starts playing. The first doll breaks away, suddenly throws up all the red cotton he had taken, and then walks unevenly out of the frame, swinging side to side like he was high.

 

The movie finally ends and everyone claps.

"I guess the mistakes were quite obvious on this one", Anderson laughs and he swallows down the rest of his drink before laying it down back on the table. He turns around in his chair, kicks the floor and rolls in front of the screen, the colorful image of the dolls painted over his face. "I guess we don't have to talk about the mistakes we saw. Let's talk about the story. Who wants to go first?"

Surprisingly, North is the one raising her arm, the one that was holding her cherry flavored drink. When she gets a permission to answer, she lowers her drink so fast it spills a little onto the side where Josh was. He looks down at his shirt that has been stained with a few tiny spots of soda, but doesn't complain. He was used to this. "I noticed the puppets didn't have obvious genders. So, I think the story could be -", she turns her head towards Connor, "- homosexual."

Connor moves his hand into a fist and shows it at North. She just giggles with a malevolent grin.

Anderson coughs a little. "Interesting point, North. But yes, the puppets don't have genders, so you can see the story in any way you want", he comments and rolls around in a circle in his chair. His eyes are now avoiding Connor. "What else did you all notice? Like the meaning behind the story?"

Josh notices how shy and frustrated Connor seemed and he briskly decided to help him out. "Well, clearly one of the puppets was getting high", he starts. Laughter erupts in the room. "But then the other doll stepped in and made out with him."

"And what could that mean?" Hank says. He stands up, rolls the chair around and he sits down with his legs spread open, hands on top of each other and his body leaning against the back of the chair. Connor swallows heavily.

"Love is the real drug?" Josh suggested, not feeling too confident about his answer. But he sees Anderson nod and he relaxes.

"Love isn't always the answer, but for some people it's exactly what they need", Hank says, almost so quietly that only Connor could hear it. Hank Anderson lets his gaze fall down and he only sees Connor, making direct eye contact that burned the young man's chest. "In this film, the first puppet tried to find happiness in this ... red drug it was taking. But at the end, we can see that only a kiss made him feel something."

Hank's eyes are almost sexually checking out Connor, and he knows those words are meant directly to him. Connor feels like he is breaking down, while Hank is serene, completely insensible. Expect his eyes. His eyes were sending messages to Connor, clear lust in his gaze, some kind of a secret hidden behind the iris. Connor looked back at him and for a moment, just for a moment, he felt like this meeting would have been a lot different if his friends weren't here. Hank gives him a smile, the one that tilts a little more to the other side and he knows that Hank is clearly teasing him.

His desirable look towards Connor never waned, as he rolled back behind the desk.

North slowly leans closer to Connor and whispers right into his ear, "You two had just strong sexual tension going on there", before she slowly leans away again. Markus leans in closer, too. "He definitely likes you back, no doubt", he also whispers before slowly moving away. All Connor could do was swipe some sweat from his forehead and reach for the chips. They tasted disgusting. 

 

 

 

"This film is a bit long, but we have just enough time to watch it. Buckle up."

The third film is indeed a lot longer than the others but luckily it's the most interesting out of all of them. It has no dialogue, just like the others, and it had continuous music playing in the background that always fit the mood, sad or happy. It's a simple story of a woman taking care of her child, expect the longer the movie grows, the more inhuman the child becomes. First, the child is just like any other child - bright, smiling, playing and laughing. But then, she is loosing her hair, then her clothes become disheveled and dirt starts covering her face.

And suddenly, the child is no longer a human, but a machine. Her skin is turning white from her fingertips, her hair is completely gone and she is missing pieces of her body, revealing wires that laid under her synthetic skin.

The film seems to be set somewhere in 1950's, as the mother is wearing a tight dress that widens strongly at her hips and in the background you could often see a bright red rotary phone. But for a moment, there is a Star Wars poster in the background and Markus is almost shaking as he points at it, screaming "Anachronism" over and over again.

Suddenly at the end, the robot child is no longer moving and the mother is crying, unable to fix her. Connor is sure he can hear Simon sniffling loudly, and Markus wraps his arm around him and comforts him the best he could. The movie ends with a picture of the mother sitting next to the bed, the child laying on top of the covers, her body set to pieces. The screen goes black, they all clap and Hank closes the tab. The wallpaper of the computer blasted over the projector screen, revealing a picture of Sumo sleeping on top of bright green grass. 

"That's my dog, Sumo", he introduces his friend as everyone was adoring his cuteness. Hank rubs his hands together and compliments Markus for noticing the mistake, who stands up and bows as a reaction. 

 

 

"If you noticed any other mistakes other than the horrible makeup job, then that's great. Sadly, we're running out of time, so let's talk about something else", Anderson says as he looks at the watch tied around his wrist, noticing they had barely five minutes left before they would have to clean up and leave.

"I loved the movie, even though it was sad", Simon confesses as he wipes some tears from his eyes.

"Aww, so sweet", Josh can't help but comment.

"It's a well done short film. But let's talk about the lightning they used. What do you say about that?" Anderson said and he once again rolled im front of the screen with his chair.

"Well, it was filmed during the summer, I think, so sometimes the light was extremely strong. So ... it looked pretty bad to be honest", Josh says, once again saving Connor from saying anything. Connor mouths him a soft 'thank you'.

"And how did it fit the mood?" Anderson asked, rubbing his chin.

"It was a bit weird when something was super sad, but the lightning was always so ... happy", Josh continued. His friends were nodding in agreement. Anderson taps his feet against the ground in a slow rhythm.

"Clearly, the scene is meant to be upsetting. but for some reason they have used a warm, nice lightning the summer day gave them", Hank points out. "Is it laziness, or is it supposed to mean something?"

His eyes are once again fixating on Connor, his other brow raising high like he was challenging him. Or he wanted to hear Connor's thoughts again. Maybe his voice was something Hank Anderson desired to hear. Connor could feel the air grow thick and hot between them and he wiggled a little in his seat. He swallowed nervously as he realized his friends were looking at him, too.

Connor sighed and opened his mouth.

"It could mean that even if everything seems to be falling down, there is always light at the end of the road", he started. Hank leaned back in his chair with a curious look in his eyes.

"What I mean is ... the warm lightning during a depressing scene means there's always hope, no matter how dark things may get", Connor finished and nervously looked up at the photographer, trying to find some kind of a seal of approval. And he got one. A crooked, pleased smile grew over Anderson's face and judging from the way his stomach jumped, he was slightly amused by his answer.

"Perfect analysis", he finally says and claps his hands together. Simon immediately joins him, smacking his hands together with enthusiasm. Others also clapped lazily for a few seconds, clearly teasing Connor until his face turned completely red. North started clapping extremely slowly only when the others had stopped, smacking her hands close to Connor's ear. 

"Fucking hell, stop it", Connor hissed at her, but the young woman only laughed at him. Hank quickly ran his tongue over his lips, before telling everyone to clean up their mess.

 

 

Markus collected the empty cans into his bag and started sharing the rest of the drinks to everyone, almost forcing three different flavored drinks to Hank, who first had refused to take any. Josh took the rest of the chips with him, lying to North that he already ate them all. Instead of helping to clean, Simon walked by everyone offering candy until the bag was completely empty and he threw it in the trash. They realigned the bean bag chairs, collected their trash, turned off all the electronics before leaving the room one by one.

As Hank Anderson is locking the door, North is whispering something to Simon before pushing him towards the oldest. She then goes to Connor and leans close to his ear. "Ask him on a date", she dared. "No fucking way. Not when you are here!" he retorted back to her. North pouted her lips at him before her attention turned back to Hank who was having a conversation with the blonde.

"I like your shirt. It's very flagrant", Simon comments with a bright smile on his face, pointing at Hank's shirt. Anderson looks down at his brightly colored clothing and smiles back.

"All of my shirts are like this. I barely wear anything that doesn't look as ugly as this", he jokes. "Aw, it's not ugly! It fits you well", Simon cheers him up. He looks behind his shoulder a few times as to show he is running out of things to say. Connor felt indecisive. A part of him wanted to be brave enough to ask Hank out, but other part of him just told him to wait a little longer. But at the end he didn't have much of a choice as North pushed him towards Hank.

"Connor wants to ask you something", North said as she pushed Connor closer to Hank. He raised an eyebrow at the youngsters, showing a small amount of perplexed emotions in his face before hiding them behind a restful smile.

"We will leave you two alone", North continues and Connor feels like he is panicking. "It was fun, Hank! See you later!"

All of Connor's friends start heading downstairs, waving their hands and yelling out goodbyes until they disappeared from the view. Their chattering and feet stomping against the floor echoes on the whole floor for a long while, until the group of friends have finally reached the first floor. Then it's silent.

And Connor is alone with Hank once again.

 

 

 

"You had something you wished to ask?" 

Hank Anderson laced his fingers together, resting them over his protruding stomach. His radiant eyes were curiously inspecting Connor, whose face was turning redder every second and who had a hard time staying still. His toes were inching closer together, his posture closed and shy like he was trying to hide himself. Connor had a hard time looking back at him. His eyes were running everywhere they could, but he never lifted them high enough to meet with Hank's gaze.

"Uh, well", Connor mumbled, moving his hand to play with the strand of hair that was always hanging a little over his forehead. "I was wondering, if ... Uh, if you ... Well ..."

"Connor, you're stalling", Hank chuckled at him, burying his left hand into his pant pocket while the other one kept his bag hanging over his shoulder. Connor seemed to react quite strongly on his small pressuring, his hand grabbing so tightly at the hem of his shirt that his palm was glowing red and his body jumping a little in surprise. Hank found it interesting. He was growing unadulterated interest towards this young man. He found Connor's every move so thrilling to watch. Hank wanted to understand Connor, teach him, learn from him. 

Know him better.

 

"I was wondering if you wanted to go ... out. Someday. Any day, really", Connor finally spits out. 

Hank tilts his head to the side a little and swallows. "To do what?"

Connor grabs the hem of his shirt now with both hands and pulls it down a little. "... Something art related? We could go to a gallery. A different gallery than this one, of course", Connor finds himself muttering, his voice getting quieter after every word. Hank can't help but smile at his sudden shyness. A smug grin paints over his face as he decides to tease Connor a little. He hums a little.

"I don't know", he answers, pretending his interest had waned. "I'm quite busy these days, mired with paperwork and everything."

Connor's face goes completely pale. He looks up at Hank with wide, defeated eyes and he tries to say something, but then his head falls down and he only lets out a soft 'oh'. His pouty bottom lip started trembling, even when his teeth were trying to hold it down, and his fingers were shaking violently. Hank almost felt bad for being so mean, so he lets out a sigh and tentatively raised his hand, placing it on top of Connor's head.

"I was kidding", he said with a chuckle and caressed Connor's hair, rubbing his fingers against his scalp softly. Connor's hair was extremely soft, and Hank couldn't help but take his time as he caressed it, memorizing the feeling of it, fighting back the urge to pull at it softly. Connor keeps his head down, but now his eyes close and he inches just a little bit closer, leaning against Hank's hand like a dog in need of attention. Hank smiles.

"There is this gallery I've been wanting to visit", Hank Anderson comments and slides his hand to the side, fingers continuing to massage his skull while his thumb stroked over Connor's flushed ear. "It's more focused on modern art, but seems like a good place to visit. I think you would like it."

Connor leans against his hand, his eyes still closed and pink lips slightly parted. His mouth curve into a small smile. Connor looks extremely soft like this, when he is completely forgetting they are still in a public place. He looked so needy for attention and when he was finally getting what he wanted, Connor couldn't keep a straight face anymore. Hank has to bite down into his lip to stop himself for surrendering to his lustful desires. His heart speeds up, the beating so strong and loud it fills his ears. The heat flowing in his veins is making Hank feel almost sick. His legs feel like they are breaking under his weight, his stomach is in small pain and his hands feel sweaty. 

Hank Anderson feels like he is going to go crazy, and he hasn't even done anything yet.

"I can get a few hours away this Friday. I hope you can get some free time, too", Hank says quietly to him and swipes his thumb over Connor's ear, before he slides his hand to his cheek and holds it gently. He slowly lifts Connor's face and finally, the young man opens his eyes. His eyes are half-lidded like he was completely high, mouth softly open, cheeks flushed pink like the evening sky when the sun was setting. 

Hank felt warm when he looked at Connor.

Needy. Loving. Covetous.

Hank Anderson was doing his everything to keep himself calm, so he wouldn't just take Connor right there and there.

 

"I - I can take some hours off. I'll work longer on Saturday", Connor said quietly and blinked strongly couple of times. He pressed his cheek against Hank's palm, closed his eyes for a few seconds before opening them again. Anderson chuckled softly and took a step closer.

"No. Take some hours away from school. The opening starts at midday", Hank says. Connor's eyes open, now fully.

"Opening?" he repeats the man's words, feeling a little bit confused. "Yes. Just like with Carl Manfred. New works at display, some food and cheap champagne", Hank explains to him.

"What gallery is it?" Connor asks, his voice just slightly stuttering. For a moment, he doesn't get an answer. Hank just quietly laughs and moves his thumb over Connor's lips. He swipes it gently over his bottom lip and as a reaction that was quite inappropriate for the situation, Connor opens his mouth a little wider.

"It's a surprise. I want you to be here 30 minutes before twelve. Can you do that?" Hank asks, his voice much lower, seducing. His form leaning in a little closer. Connor feels like he is completely out of breath as he gives him a shaky nod. 

"W-why do you want me to come here? Shouldn't we meet in front of the gallery we're going to?" Connor asks. His eyes shyly look up at Hank and his pupils expanded just a little as he realized how close Hank was. He could feel Hank's breathing brush gently against his face and his warmth radiating through his hand that was still holding onto his face. Anderson leaned in just a little closer, so close that it would look like he was moving in for a kiss.

"I want you to meet me here, so we can walk there together. It's a short walk, you'll enjoy it."

Hank Anderson's voice was almost as quiet as a whisper like he wanted only Connor to hear his words. And Connor heard them, loud and clear. He lifted one of his dainty hands higher and moved it over Hank's fingers, pressing Hank's hand harder against his cheek. And then, Connor rubbed his face against his warm palm, eyes closed, mouth curved into a smile, cheeks flushed red. 

The heat, the lustful tension and the warm enchantment going between them was extremely thick. Both of them had a hard time keeping themselves together, but Connor was the one who was obviously breaking down already. His breathing was heavy, chest rising heavily up and down, short inhales easy to be heard. He looked like he was going to pass out soon. And Hank loved it. He would be lying if he said he wasn't feeling extremely hot now, too. His other hand stayed in his pocket, his nails digging deeply into his thigh to stop himself from doing anything stupid his sinful mind kept suggesting. 

He had come to realize he had completely fallen for this young man who understood him so well. Hank had grown to like Connor, _want_ Connor, but he was still at that point where he still wanted to experiment with their relationship.

He still wanted to experience more situations like this, where both of them were so lustful each other but still had to keep their hands away.

Hank could feel Connor press a soft kiss against his thumb, and he couldn't help but smile. Connor had returned Hank's kiss, and there was nothing more romantic the man could think of. Hank wondered what would be an appropriate place to kiss next. His forehead, cheek, the back of his hand? His ears that looked so adorable when they were glowing in hot red color? So many options.

Anderson swiped his thumb over Connor's lip, now putting down more pressure, and Connor opened his mouth again, a little wider. _Such an orgasmic view_. He leaned a little closer, moving a little closer to Connor's ear. He let out a heavy breath against his neck, and Connor shook violently just from that. He was barely able to stand under Hank's presence, and he loved it. Wanted to see more of it. Hank Anderson slowly moved in closer and smirked.

"Will you come then?"

Hank had carefully picked his words, making sure they were as dirty as possible, but still safe enough to be said in public. 

Connor's shoulders raised strongly, bottom lip trembled a little, eyes closed tighter. Eyebrows curved up in such an innocent way that made something jump in the bottom of Hank's stomach, Connor's nails softly pressing against the back of Hank's hand. Deep enough to leave soft marks over the lines of bones.

A sound that was far too close to a quiet moan escaped Connor's throat and that was when Hank decided to move away.

He slowly slides his hand back, Connor hesitantly letting go and allowing his hand fall down to his side. Hank takes a large step away from him and returns his hand into his pant's pocket. Connor opens his eyes slowly, swallows loudly before he looks back at the older man. Everything returns back to normal, like nothing had happened between them at all. But the memory was still there, the ghostly touch still warming Connor up, making him feel high.

 

 

"Next Friday. In front of this gallery. 30 minutes past eleven. Will you come then?" Hank Anderson said, his voice now much brighter, far from the deep sensual tone he had used on Connor. It takes a few seconds before Connor is able to close his mouth and nod. 

"Good. I will see you then", Hank says to him, flashes one devilish grin before he turns in his heels and starts heading to the other direction.

Connor just stands there for a moment. Then takes a few shaky steps back. 

His heart is thumping loudly against his chest, his whole body so hot it started sweating strongly. A shaky breath escapes from his throat.

And then he is almost running towards the stairs, skipping every other step to get downstairs faster.

 

His friends are there, waiting for him, and when they lock their eyes on Connor they all smile. The group joins together in a big circle and listen carefully what Connor has to say. Connor explains what had happened in great detail, moving his arms around, sometimes swiping sweat away from his forehead. He is so excited, in full euphoria, that he doesn't even hide the tiniest details. He even admits how turned on he felt after Hank had touched him.

North, Simon, Josh and Markus all freak out when he is finished with the story and suddenly they are all hugging Connor, unable to stay still.

 

Connor has a date. 

And it's clearer than a summer day that Hank Anderson feels something for him, too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Hank has a sexy voice in this fiction. Took me a while to write this, because me, myself and I is very flustered over here. Woo boi.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Hank go on their first date in a gallery and experience a lot of things that bring both of them to the edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I had not even noticed it had been a month already since the last update, feels weird.  
> This chapter also has some references, to the actual game, to real life artists and to my other fanfictions. I like adding them there lol.

Friday came.

Connor is sitting on top of the stairs right outside the gallery, drawing the view in front of him. Connor sketches the bus stop, the nearby park that had a few people jogging around the fountain, and the tall buildings in the horizon. It's 20 minutes past eleven. 10 minutes before he would have to meet Hank. And Connor was so nervous that even drawing didn't seem to calm him down. Usually drawing took his mind elsewhere, but right now all he could think about was Hank and their upcoming date.

The sun is high up in the sky, the weather warm and only slightly windy. Just the perfect kind of weather to take pictures with good natural lightning. It brings an idea to his head and Connor stops drawing for a moment to pull out his blue Polaroid camera. He first points it at the busy street in front of him, but then decides that he wants to take a picture of the gallery. He turns around, the camera in front of his face as he snaps a picture of the large building. The camera spits out the photo and Connor safely places it between his sketchbook pages.

He continues drawing, his eyes checking the clock every minute, sometimes just looking at the number and drumming his feet against the lower stair when the number changed in front of his eyes. 

Connor stares at his phone at the last two minutes and almost freaks out when the timer hits 11:30. He makes sure he has everything in his bag, before he gets up and turns to look at the gallery again. Just in time, not a minute too early or late, Hank Anderson is walking the stairs down, looking like his usual self. Hank was donning his usual tailored brown jacket that looked far too formal when it was put together with a pair of dark navy jeans, and a shirt that had meandering toffee colored lines with a strong blue strike in the middle where the buttons were. Pair of round glasses were placed over his large nose, his twiggy yet perfectly tamed hair tied in a ponytail, his beard cleaned and trimmed neatly. Unadulterated joy takes over Connor when they lock eyes and Hank waves his hand at him. Connor climbs over the few steps until he and Hank are on the same surface, and to his surprise, Hank is suddenly pulling him into a sudden hug, one hand on his backside while the other one stayed on Hank's pocket.

"Just on time", Hank Anderson praises him and pats Connor's back, before he pulls away. His eyes look at Connor up and down, admiring his whole existence like he was an angel. Connor looked as handsome as he always did, but today he had seemed to pick out his favorite clothes out of his closet. He was wearing a jean jacket that had a few colorful pins over the chest and a white button shirt with gaudy blue triangles printed all over it. He had his collar open a little, exposing his neck and a hint of his collar bone. Even if it was just two buttons left open, it made Connor feel a little dangerous, almost slutty even.

"I like your outfit. Looks like you got inspired by my style", Hank commented on his shirt and took a step closer to Connor, inspecting his features carefully. His gaze then moves up to Connor's hair, combed perfectly, covered a little too much in hair gel. He carefully swipes his hand over the side of his hair where it was just a little shorter than at the top, moving his thumb over the ear lobe, just like last time. Connor seems to already melt from it, as his eyes close and he is only able to smile as an answer.

"Ready to go?" he asks, and only thing Connor can do is say a quick 'yeah' before following after the man.

 

They swivel to the right and start walking forward in the street, stepping over rock tiles and every now and then pressing closer against each other when a stranger passed them. They always smiled at each other whenever the other one moved closer or when their hands brushed against each other. The sun was making Connor sweat a little, so they did their best to walk under the building's shadows, enjoying the breeze whenever it passed and cooled them down just for a moment. Connor found it hard to start a conversation and he ended up being silent for the first minutes, too silent in his taste. The whole thing felt like a date, an actual date, and he was extremely nervous. His fingers immediately started drumming against his sides, more wildly than usual.

Connor buried his hand in his jean's pocket and took out a single coin he had kept safe there just for this moment. "Hey, look", Connor said before he rolled the coin in his fingers and threw it up in the air. Hank watched carefully as the coin was flipped into the air a few times, always falling down in a curve back to Connor's hand.

"Seems like one of the movies we watched last time inspired you to take on a new hobby", Anderson chuckles. Connor is satisfied with the attention he has got and feels more confident to start up a conversation, so after a few more coin tosses, he buries the coin back to his pocket and continues walking, inching a little closer to Hank.

"So, what's the gallery we're going to?" Connor decides to ask, even if he most likely knew the answer. He had searched all the nearby galleries last night and not too many were close to The Eden Gallery. And not too many where hosting any events.

"Zen Garden. It's not that big of a place, and the event hasn't been advertised too much so most likely there won't be too many people inside", Hank tells him and continues walking in the silence, admiring the view around him. Connor, instead, admires Hank and how the world looked around him. He loved how the sun was shining onto his face, his hair almost glowing under the light. Hank Anderson moved so gracefully, his chin high up, facial features strong yet friendly looking, his whole form so confident as he walked, like he knew what he wanted to do with his life. Connor stared at him until he collided onto a stranger, and had to continue walking with his eyes locked in front of him so he wouldn't embarrass himself any longer. Anderson laughed.

"You always seem to be bumping to others like a bumper car", he said and without much of a warning, Hank entwines his hand with Connor's, pulling him closer. "Maybe like this you won't get lost in your thoughts."

Now Connor can't stop staring at their hands, fingers laced over each other like they were lovers. Hank playfully kept swinging their hands around, every now and then giving Connor a smile before looking back forward so neither of them would accidentally crash against someone.

Connor loved how Hank's hand looked compared to his. Connor's dainty hand was skinny, bones poking out a little, his skin completely pale. Hank had a little darker skin, and his hand was a lot hairier compared to his. The hold of his fingers was hefty, always over-enthusiastic when they were doing something. They were large, wide and plump. Strong and powerful, yet always so caring and tender whenever touching something delicate. They felt slightly clammy to the touch, and he had ample wrists that had a watch tied around it. The back of his hand had clear veins protruding out strongly, fingers just slightly gnarled over the age.

Hank Anderson's hands told a story of many years and adventures, and it excited Connor. They were so different, yet so similar. He was eager to see how the rest of Hank's body looked like, how it was different to his. What kind of battles it had experienced.

Connor knew his feelings towards Hank Anderson were far from volatile. They were strong, passionate, indissoluble.

And he didn't want to stop.

He couldn't stop.

 

 

 

"Here we are."

 

The building was huge with multiple floors, but the one on the same level as the street was made for the gallery opening. From the outside, it looked like a quiet flower shop - roses had been planted outside the etched window that had a logo painted over it, the color softly peeling away over the years. They stepped inside through a small wooden door that was decorated like it was from a fantasy world, and they entered a room that was just a little stale and hard to breathe in as it was so full. People were dressed up in their best formal clothing that still passed as normal work wear, a clear solemn event happening in the small gallery that was barely holding itself together. Connor can see a lot of art works hanging and placed near the painted white walls, and he sees a few doorways that lead you to other rooms. Some of the contemporary arts were placed in the middle of the floor, and the guests were circling around them, standing far away to avoid any accidents.

A long table covered in cheap plastic drinks filled with champagne was right near the entrance and Hank was heading for it immediately. He took two drinks into his hands and like a knight in shining armor, he offered the other one to Connor, bowing down a little. "Thank you", Connor giggled out, grabbed the drink and took a careful sip from it. It's the exact same stuff you offer to kids so they can pretend they are drinking like adults. Plain and boring, but with a nice little aftertaste that tickled the inside of your mouth.

Suddenly, a pair of heels is clicking against the wooden floor as a dark skinned woman approached them, calling out to Hank Anderson like an old friend. She was wearing a light blue dress made out of the finest satin that shined under the lightning like a diamond, layers draped over each other to create an asymmetrical look. The woman was wearing a dark cadet blue scarf over her left shoulder, and on her neck and right wrist she had quite unique jewelry - white quadrilaterals that were pressed against her skin like tattoos. Her natural hair was braided tightly together, some hairs colored like the Northern Lights. A beautiful sight, even if she was coming close to the age where she could no longer take care of herself.

"Anderson, it has been a while", the woman says with a bright smile and offers her calloused hand to Hank who shakes it gently. "Hello, Amanda", Hank says, shakes her hand just a little too long before letting go.

"Who is this wonderful young man?" Amanda asks and moves to rest her hands over her stomach, tilting her head just a little to the side as she inspects Connor curiously. Anderson suddenly wrapped his arm around Connor and pulled him closer, their sides almost crashing together. "This is Connor, an art student who visits the Eden Gallery quite often. I'm his ... mentor, of some sort", Hank introduced him and Connor awkwardly waved, trying to ignore how he was so close to Hank he could feel his body heat radiating warmth, making him feel hotter than ever before. He took a nervous sip from his champagne.

"A mentor?" Amanda reiterates his words and laughs a little. "Just like I was yours."

Hank turns to look at Connor and finally lets go of him, taking a step away to give him some room to breathe in. "Amanda was mine and Elijah Kamski's mentor, teaching us everything she knew", Hank gives him a quick concise story time so Connor wouldn't feel too lost in the conversation. He nods quickly as an answer.

"I would offer to teach you too, Connor, but sadly I have decided to lay back for now because of my sickness. Unless you have money to offer", the woman joked, laughing once again. 

"Thank you, but Mr. Anderson is a very good teacher, so for now I'm pleased enough to have him as my 'mentor'", Connor said briskly and flashed a smile, first to Amanda, then to Hank. But when his eyes met with the other man, his expression changed to a much warmer one, showing with his smile that he meant those words. Hank smiled back at him and playfully jabbed Connor's side.

Amanda raised her eyebrows strongly. "That's good to hear. One of my students is moving my legacy and knowledge forward. At least I won't be forgotten when I pass away", she says, her tone of voice far from melancholy when she talked about death. In fact, it seemed like she had accepted it. Connor thought this woman was quite a mysterious individual, clearly having a secret she wanted to keep hidden, but she still talked about it to let others know she was more than the mask she was wearing. Almost like she was seeking for attention, but not in a bad way. Just a simple 'cry for help', if you could say.

"Ah, don't say that. You and your work will go down in history", Anderson comforted the woman. She daintily lowered her gaze to the floor like she was flattered by Hank's words, before lifting her head back up and growing back to the confident look she carried on her shoulders. "I will soon have my opening speech. Please, just get comfortable. Talk to others. Life is short", she said brightly, waving her hands around a little.

"It was good to see you again, Anderson. Take care of your little friend here", Amanda said, gave one strong look for both of them before winking and turning around in her heels to greet another guest.

 

 

"She was nice", Connor said quietly and took another sip from his champagne. Hank only hummed a little as an answer and followed Connor's lead, drinking the tasteless drink with him. Connor turned to look at the man on his side. "What kind of a sickness does she have? She kept talking about it quite a lot."

"I don't know. Maybe she is malingering. Who knows", Hank shrugs. "She is resilient. Nothing gets her down, so you don't have to worry about her."

Connor couldn't help but still feel a little weird after meeting her. After all, Amanda had somehow been able to reference to death in her every sentence. It seemed like her health wasn't getting any better, for what ever the reason to it was, but she still seemed to bright and excited. Connor could almost say it was ... inspiring.

Anderson lays his hand on Connor's dainty shoulder and shakes him a little. "I think some of Amanda's works might be here on display. They have a high value, let me tell you. Amanda is one of the most famous artists in Detroit", he explains and looks around. He soon points at a large painting and guides Connor towards it.

It's a large white canvas that was so long it reached both corners of the wall, and it was completely covered in wild drops of paint that still somehow created a few of a garden next to a lake. There was a clear line of different kind of blues representing the water, a rocky bridge going over it, connecting tree green hills together. On the left side there was a wide group of red drops that looked like roses to Connor's eyes, and on the distance there was smudges of paint that had been scrubbed almost completely off, trying to show a forest in the distance.

Hank Anderson leaned in a little closer to see the name of the work. "Mind Palace", he repeats it out loud, locking his arms behind his back.

"Ah, yes. Amanda often says she has a place in her mind she visits. Says she gets her inspiration from there", he continues and looks at Connor, who nods.

 

 

 

 

"I gotta say, I've seen her do better. Quite a disappointment."

 

Both of them turn around to look at a man who is standing just a little too close behind them. He looked messy, wearing only a leather jacket and a pair of ragged jeans. His dark brown hair was a mess, dark eye bags laid under his blood shot eyes and an untrimmed stubble covering his jaw. He had the most expensive camera hanging from his neck and a notepad in his hand, covered in messy writing. Hank doesn't seem too happy when he recognizes the man as he lets out a strong huff.

"Now, now. No need to be rude", Anderson says to the man and places his hands onto his pockets.

"I ain't rude. I just wanna get the fuck out", the man mumbles and starts wildly writing something in his notebad.The man then rubs his nose a little, moving a finger over a clear scar that trailed over the skin.

Hank sighed loudly. "Connor, this is Gavin Reed, an old friend", he says. Gavin points his pen at him. "Not your friend anymore. You got boring when you got sober", he says and lowers his pen slowly like it was a sword. Anderson just sighs, clearly not too thrilled to see this friend of his. Connor quietly watches from the side, hoping this unpleasant man would leave soon. But his wish would not be granted yet.

Gavin's eyes turn to Connor and he quietly analyzes him, not looking too pleased to meet him. "And what do you do, huh? How do you know Hank?" Reed finally asked, gesturing at the man who was cleaning the lenses of his glasses.

"I'm an art student. I visit The Eden Gallery quite often, attending the drawing night Hank hosts", he explains, shortly and politely. Gavin huffs a little.

"Well, I'm an art critic", he says and lays his notebook down, leaning to the side with his hip. Gavin chuckles loudly and raises his other brow at Connor. "Do you even know what a critic is?"

Connor bit down onto his lip to not say anything rude, despite the faxt that Gavin Reed was treating him like an idiot for no reason. He felt eager to prove this man wrong. "Yes. You attend these openings and go through the gallery, evaluating each art piece and most likely publishing your opinions on a magazine or your own blog", Connor explains quickly, creating a smug grin on his face. Hank Anderson looked down at him with a proud smile before taking a sip from his drink.

Gavin didn't think Connor's answer was cogent enough, as he just chuckled. "Well, aren't you a walking dictionary", he says and cackles loudly, thinking his idea of a joke was quite hilarious. He then looks at the large painting behind them again, inspecting it strongly before letting out a disgusted sound.

"This looks like she has first eaten the paint and then just puked it all over the canvas", Reed comments out loud. He then laughs and starts writing those words down, thinking he was quite hilarious.

It seemed like Gavin Reed wasn't much of a fan of abstract art, and usually Connor wouldn't even care. But he had just heard that Amanda's health might not be the strongest anymore and the last thing she needs is some uncultured idiot mocking her work. Gavin Reed's writing would bound to attract adverse publicity and bring the contemporary art movement into disrepute, if he would publish such crude comments about this event. Connor didn't like that. He wouldn't allow that.

Connor looks up at Hank, who gives him a nod of approval without hesitation, knowing exactly what Connor wished to do.

 

 

"Why do people like this shit anyway?" Gavin huffed out loudly, tapping his pen against his notepad. Connor takes a brave step closer.

"I think the continuing interest in abstract art lies in its ability to inspire us to create something the world hasn't seen entirely from our imagination", he speaks out bravely, standing tall and holding his chin up. Gavin turns to look at him with wide, confused eyes, like he had not understood a single word. He looks at Hank and mouths 'what'.

Anderson laughs a little, his stomach jumping up and down. "He is a walking dictionary, a living genius. Well, maybe not a genius, but at least he knows what he is studying", Hank explains and looks at Connor with a proud look. Connor can't help but smile. Gavin Reed still doesn't seem to be too impressed. "Well, modern art is still quite redundant. It has no meaning. It's just trash."

"That's because you're not looking hard enough. You have to feel the work, instead of just trying to think what it means", Connor says now more loudly, clearly a bit frustrated. He turns Gavin's attention to his left where there was another work hanging from a wall. "Alright. Look at this work. It's called ... 'Prohibition'. How does it make you feel?" Connor asks after they have moved a little closer to the piece. It was a messy painting with brown colored glass pieces poked through the canvas, possibly some non-alcoholic message hidden on it.

Gavin stared at it for long, eyes squinted and mouth hanging open.

"I feel annoyed."

"Cool. That's one way to go", Connor says blithely and gives the man a wide smile that was far from friendly. It was a cocky smile, Connor's own way of being annoying as hell. Gavin Reed looks at him with displeased eyes and opens his mouth as to say something, but they hear a woman clapping her hands together. They turn around and see Amanda preparing herself for the opening speech, trying to get everyone to quiet down and the trio realizes their conversation has come to an end. Gavin looks at Connor and just huffs at him, shaking his head as he leaves with a frustrated sigh.

 

 

 

 

"I'm sorry about Gavin. He's ... just a fucking dick", Hank apologized, looking quite guilty over something he had no part of. He puts his hand on Connor's back again and rubs it gently as to comfort him.

"It's alright, Hank", Connor absolved. "Although I do agree that this Gavin is quite detestable."

Hank was surprised Connor was still able to be so polite, even if he could trash talk about Gavin now that the trouble maker was gone. He couldn't believe Connor was real human flesh and blood, when sometimes it felt like Connor was a machine programmed to be benevolent and kind to anyone who came into his way. He admired the fact Connor was always able to stay calm, no matter if someone was rude and annoying or when someone was literally threatening them.

Hank wished he was more like Connor. More in control of his emotions.

Connor looked a little over his shoulder, watching how Hank's arm draped around his body. Anderson didn't say anything, as his hand moved down to the lower back, then moving over to Connor's side, pulling him closer again. "How do you know Gavin?" Connor decided to ask, his brown eyes never leaving Hank Anderson and his so godly form. In his eyes, Hank was irresistible, so beautiful and charming that he could barely keep himself away. And the more Hank touched him like this, the harder it was for him to not lean in for a kiss.

"Ah. Amanda was also his mentor, but Gavin didn't like it when his work was corrected. Always got angry at poor Amanda who just tried to help", Anderson says as he grabs a little tighter onto Connor and almost roughly pulls his body against his, their sides pressing against each other strongly. Connor recoils a little from the movement, but relaxes against the softness of Anderson's body. 

"Ouch. Number one rule of being an artist; always accept critique", Connor comments, trying to keep his voice straight. Hank's hold on him was tight and rough, like he was afraid he'd lose Connor into the crowd. Hank didn't look too worried, but every now and then it seemed like he was sulking, biting down onto his lip like it was stress relief. Connor smiled a little. Maybe holding onto Connor made Anderson calm down after meeting such an ominous person. 

"Gavin was the literal Disaster Artist. He had some skill, but at the end he gave up on art. We were friends mostly because we got along so well when we both were drunk", Hank confessed quietly and looked around, noticing people gather around and stepping away from Amanda's large painting like the area around it was a stage. 

"I guess that means you're sober?" Connor looked at Hank, raising his eyebrows. Hank swallowed roughly, the storm inside him subsiding a little when Connor was near him.

"I try to be."

 

 

Amanda, wearing a complacent smile over her face, walked in front of her own large painting and patiently locked her hands in front of her body. She loudly proposes to initiate the opening speech and everyone in the room turns quiet in seconds. Hank finally relaxes his hand a little and allows Connor to move away, but the young man doesn't move an inch. He still stays close to Hank, completely serene from the outside, but on the inside he was burning up.

"Thank you all for coming here today", Amanda starts her speech just like everyone always does, with the usual 'thank you's' and then the explanation of what the event was about. Amanda introduces the other artists that have joined here tonight and put their works on display, giving a little time for each artist to tell about their submitted works. The guests are informed that there is a performance art starting in the next room, and the other rooms, including the current one, are meant for more physical works like paintings and statues.

Amanda quickly wraps up the speech and allows everyone to start walking around the constricted gallery, starting off the event. People clapped, raised their glasses and Amanda smiled triumphantly, before joining the visitors.

Hank presses his fingers gently against Connor's waist before he slides his hand away slowly, making the young man bite down onto his lip. "Wanna look around in this room first, before we go see the performance art? We'll make a perfect circle around the gallery like that."

"Alright", Connor says in a docile way and follows Hank like he was on a leash.

 

They first walk around the room everybody was in, looking through the works as quickly as possible while being pushed around by people. Slightly exasperated over the fact that people were pushing them apart, Hank grabs Connor's hand again and pulls him so close Connor almost falls on top of him and they start heading to the next room, throwing their empty champagne glasses into the trash on the way.

The next room has already started the performance art once they entered, and it was the first time Connor had seen something like it in real life. He couldn't help but gawp at the group of people piled together in the middle of the room, making a simple circle as they created a series of movements, almost like a sentient dance that you could relate to. There was at least twenty people on their knees, only wearing utilitarian undergarments that were simple and colored close to their own skin color, designed to be practical and comfortable to wear. The performance artists were like in stupor, moving their hands around with their eyes either closed or only half-lidded. Different colors, sizes and genders were all embracing each other, touching each other ever so gently, sometimes getting a little passionate as they rolled over each other's bodies or let their lips linger around like they were moving in for a heated kiss. There was no music in the background, which made it hard for the dancers to move together in rhytmh, but sometimes someone let out a heavy moan or even a shout before they all would perform the same movement together. 

Connor was quite mesmerized over the view, but if he allowed himself to be honest, he didn't quite know what to even think. He knew the basics of performance art but he still had trouble fully understanding it. But as always, he did his best to respect it and have an open mind.

"This is why I wanted to come here today", Anderson says quietly, leaning closer for a moment before moving back to his own space, letting go of Connor's hand to tie his arms behind his back. 

"I read this performance is about accepting yourself and others, and becoming one loving union together that refuses to let others put them down", Hank explains quietly in hopes of not disturbing the performance and the other guests too much. "Them holding into each other like that represents a wall that can't be broken down, because it's made of love. Love for yourself and others."

Connor gazes at him, completely enamored by Hank and his words. He couldn't help but smile, before he looked back at the performance. He wondered if Hank had issues with himself or his body. It made Connor feel a little sad, knowing that Hank Anderson didn't see himself the way Connor saw him. But as the older man silently watched the performance, he seemed at ease with himself, at least for a sweet moment. And that seemed to be enough.

 

 

 

 

They continued to the next room, starting to circle it slowly together, staying close to each other but not holding hands anymore. Connor wanted to grab his hand again, but decided to keep away for now and instead tried to focus on the works on the gallery. It was all kind of weird for him to look at, since modern art was something Connor wasn't yet very  familiar with, but he did his best to follow Hank and listen to his thoughts about the works.

One work was simple utensils covering the wall, some of them cracked or missing pieces, while some where completely shattered. Another work was some kind of a statue that was hanging from the roof, and it looked like some kind of a snake, expect it had no details and was made out of glass, or something you could see your own reflection from. Connor and Hank spend a little too much time looking at their own disfigured reflections, making stupid faces and then laughing.

In the middle of the room there was a large statue that played some music, a clear melody of a quiet violin mixed together with the sound of the leaves rustling in the wind and waves hitting the shore. The statue was made out of wood, a cloud of colorful leaves hanging on top of it, few rocks on the floor surrounding it like it was an actual tree in a forest. The piece was quite messy to look at and it wasn't perfectly done, but it wasn't made to be impeccable to begin with. It had mistakes and rough points on purpose, like it wanted the viewer to decide what it represented. In Connor's eyes he could see two figures embracing each other, the other one almost so tall it reached the roof while the other one was almost the same size as he was. They seemed to be embracing each other, melting into each other like a pair of lovers. What made the piece a little scary was the fact the other figure seemed to have some kind of ropes coming out of its back, and they were draped around the whole piece. It was like a scene in a horror film, yet it still looked so tender and loving.

It's value was quite high as Connor read a little more about the preternatural work, trying to find out what was the meaning behind it. But the artist had kept the story to themselves and only given information about the work was its name - Renovation. It made him wonder what the artist was thinking when they had created this.

 

 

Hank and Connor enter the last room, and by then most of the gallery has already emptied. No longer were people chatting loudly or filling the rooms. Comfortable silence had taken over the first minute rush and finally Connor didn't feel so anxious and the air wasn't suffocating him any longer. They stop in front of a wild painting that is a large mix of colors and dark lines, something a child could make. Below the canvas there was some fabric hanging towards the floor, making it look like the painting was melting. Anderson hums a little at the work, admiring how a painting could also be three dimensional.

"What do you see in it? Any certain shapes or emotions pop up?" Hank asked. Connor almost jumped from the sudden voice, as the two of them had been quiet for a long moment. Connor steps closer to him and takes his time looking at the messy work.

"I think I see a jug ... pouring water", he finally answers. Connor turns his head towards Hank. "What do you see?"

Hank stays quiet for a while.

"A fucking mess."

Hank Anderson slams his hand against Connor's back and laughs as to show it was a simple joke. They continue moving to the last work that appears to be a photograph of a large city that had some other pictures glued on top of it. In the sky there appeared to be a sudden pair of eyes and in one of the windows you could see a face peeking out. The most obvious was the large gorilla placed to be standing behind a building like he was King Kong. "Photoshop, without the actual program", Anderson chuckles and leans extremely close to look at the work. Connor does the same, finding all the tiny little details, pointing them out to Hank every time he found something that didn't belong into the original picture.

"Oh, there is two dudes making out here", Anderson comments bluntly and Connor turns his head towards him a little too quickly. "Where?" he asks and moves to stand next to Hank, leaning in closer to the work to see what he meant. Hank points at one of the windows that was extremely small, and when Connor can finally see what's in the window, he is met with the world's smallest middle finger. Connor looks at Hank and gives him the same hand as in the picture, before moving away. Anderson just cackles loudly. 

"You were pretty excited to see some kissing", Hank jokes as he steps away from the photograph and moves to stand next to Connor, who chuckles a little and awkwardly looks down at his feet. "Shut up."

 

 

They gaze at the work like it was the most beautiful view they had ever laid their eyes on, quietly inspecting it as other people walked past them, only looking at the work for a while before moving away. Connor feels like he is in a dream of some sort, every new feeling swiveling around him like wind. He slowly turns his head towards Hank, whose face looked so bright and gratified when he was in a place that made him feel at ease. Connor smiled at it, and noted to visit more art galleries with Hank Anderson. He remembered Hank telling him that art always calmed him down a little, whatever the reason to that was. Connor would do anything to make Hank happy.

That was the moment he realized he truly wanted to be with Hank. He wanted more than this. He wanted Hank to know how he truly felt.

 

_I love you._

 

Hank turns to look at Connor. His lips are just slightly parted, his eyes wide. Cheeks turning red, warmer, hot. He just stares at Connor, completely dazzled and out of breath. Connor gazes back at him, first a bit confused but then he realizes it.

Did he say those words out loud?

Connor's mouth was indeed hanging a little open and he quickly closes it, a strong swallow following after it. He can feel chills run down his whole body, his hands getting shaky, a drop of sweat rolling down the curve of his back. Everything seems to be falling apart, as Connor nervously stares back into Hank's eyes, trying to figure out what was going on inside Hank's head, what was his reaction to his sudden confession.

What feels like forever, Hank's face finally relaxes. His eyes close for a moment and he lets out a heavy sigh. A smile slowly appears on his face, and his eyes travel down. Connor follows his gaze and sees Hank move his hand closer to his. Connor moves his hand, too, and soon they are touching each other. Hank first pokes Connor a little with his pinkie, before he slowly starts wrapping his fingers over his. Their fingers move past each other gently, skin rubbing against each other and soon, Hank is holding onto him tightly, so strongly that it slightly ached. Connor lets out a soft breath as he looks back up at Hank. He feels so nervous. This was so much more than their usual hand holding. It was heated and passionate, vehemence pouring through their bodies.

Anderson looked at Connor strongly. He no longer looked so unsure or shy, like Connor. He seemed confident. Connor could see him swallow, his Adam apple bobbing up a little before he was leaning in closer. Connor realized immediately what Hank was going for and he parted his lips gently. 

Hank was moving in for a kiss. 

Connor was so ready for it. He was so ready to kiss Hank, and right now it felt like it was the perfect moment for it.

And just when they both were sure they both wanted to do this, and they were about to lean in, a horrible cackle echoes from behind them.

 

 

"Well look at this. The old man has found a twink", Gavin comments loudly and steps slowly towards them like a dastardly movie villain, looking far too smug. Hank Anderson breaks away from Connor fast, ripping his hand away and taking a step back, like he was embarrassed to be caught. Connor shyly looked down onto the floor and stepped back too like they had been seen doing something sinful. He can't help but feel a little uncomfortable too.

"Can you not", Anderson admonished, clenching his teeth strongly togehter. His hands pressed into tight fists and he leaned towards Gavin almost dangerously, looking like he was ready to punch his teeth in. Reed just chuckled at him, before he turned to look at the younger man. "Connor, why do you hang out with Hank, out of all people?" Gavin Reed asked, gesturing at Hank by tilting his head. It felt like Gavin's simple attendance defiled their whole surroundings. Connor felt so angry Reed had interrupted them. He was so angry even his own hands turned into tight fists, but he bit down onto his lip to avoid doing anything he would regret later.

"For variety of reasons", Connor answers calmly, taking a deep breath to relax himself. Connor pressed his fingers over his knuckles, snapping his fingers so loudly they sounded like gunshots in the gallery that had quieted down. "Really. Is Hank being rich one of the reasons or something? Is he your sugar daddy?" Gavin joked. His laugh jarred their ears as he moved closer to Connor and playfully pushed him by the shoulder.

"Hey, get the fuck away from him", Hank retorted, his voice raising so high that the few people that were still roaming around turned their eyes to look at them. Hank grabbed Gavin by the shoulder roughly and Gavin smacked his hand away angrily.

"Don't you fucking try it, Anderson", he said, pointing a finger at him. "Wouldn't be the first time you make a mess."

Connor was fudging from the fight, or at least tried to. He hoped that if he just tried to ignore Gavin, he would get bored and leave. But there seemed to be something deeper than just a little disagreement between Hank and Gavin. Something that Connor wouldn't be able to fix. Connor noticed that people were looking at them - looking at Hank - the more Gavin continued to insult him, pushing Hank into disrepute.

Their fight seems to be coming to an end when finally both of them quiet down and just stare at each other. Gavin furrows his brows and leans closer to Anderson.

"You're just a decrepit old drunk. A hopeless, stammering drunk with no hope for the future", he spits at Hank before he walks away, slamming his shoulder roughly against Connor as he does, and soon he is running outside to his car. The scene was subsiding - people continued doing their own things, but Hank Anderson was unable to calm down. For a few seconds he looked so angry that Connor was sure he was going to run after Reed, but then Anderson relaxed and sighed heavily. Connor came closer, a little worried as he noticed how exhausted and defeated Hank looked.

Heartbroken.

"Hank, I -", Connor mutters but he doesn't know what to even say. He feels so bad for him and Connor rubs his hand against Hank's arm a little, trying to comfort him. But Hank just coldly looks away.

"Let's go. I have to get back to the gallery."

Hank Anderson starts leaving, without even checking if Connor was coming after him. But Connor does, almost slamming through the door as he goes after Hank.

 

 

 

 

The walk back to The Eden Gallery was silent and awkward, the silence so pressuring that Connor couldn't bring himself to say anything. He quietly walked next to Hank who was darting forward like he was in a rush. His steps were large, hands swinging side to side and his eyes were locked forward. It's like he didn't even notice Connor was still there, doing his best to keep up with him. Hank seemed angry, frustrated, but most of all he seemed ashamed. It seemed like what Gavin Reed had said to him had completely defiled his mind, and all Hank could do is be full of negative emotions. 

Connor wished to comfort him. But right now it seemed like Hank needed some time to just think.

They finally reach the gallery. The city is still busy around them, the sun now hidden behind the clouds, wind blowing their curls around. Hank stops for a moment and looks at Connor, but only for a second, like he had a difficult time holding himself together when he looked at him. Connor had caught something in his eyes - a glimpse of uncertainty. He had never thought Hank Anderson would be indecisive, when he always seemed to know a solution to everything.

Even the greatest teacher needed someone to guide them.

"I had fun today", Hank Anderson says quietly, his gaze on the floor and one leg already standing on the first step of the stone stairs that would lead him back to the gallery. He forces a smile on his face. "I'll ... see you next Tuesday", Hank slowly continues and quickly turns around. He is only able to take two steps closer to the gallery's front doors, when Connor also climbs on the stairs and grabs him by the hand, his fingers tugging at the sleeve of his jacket. 

Hank freezes and turns to look at him. He doesn't say anything. Just waits for Connor to say, or do something, anything.

Connor swallows nervously. He knows their date didn't end up the way he wanted, but there had to be something he could do. He wished Hank would talk to him about the situation he had with his old friend, but it seemed like Hank wasn't ready to open up about it yet. Connor would give him all the time he needed.

But there was something in his heart that kept telling Connor to do something. To do something he wanted to do in the gallery.

"Hank, I -", he starts, his eyes gazing strongly into Hank. His words linger in the air for a moment, unable to find the next part to continue to. Connor mouths Hank's name again and his eyes fall down to their feet and the stairs under them. He swallows and opens his mouth again.

"Don't say it."

 

Connor quickly looks up at the man, squinting his eyes a little when the sun slowly starts peeking through the edge of the clouds, shining right onto them. 

Hank looked at Connor silently, without bothering to explain the meaning of his words. Anderson's eyes looked tentative, like the man was no longer sure if he wanted to approach Connor. It made his heart hurt. Suddenly Hank seemed so distant from him, and the man was right there in front of him.

Connor doesn't let go of his sleeve. Instead he holds on tighter. Refusing to give up.

Hank sighs.

 

Carefully, Hank's fingers spread out and reach for Connor, and he trails them over his skinny wrist. He presses them against the veins that were protruding strongly, following their route like a traveler. Connor slowly lets go of his jacket, and that's when Hank moves closer, walking down the stairs until he was on the same level as Connor. He looks to his left where the gallery stood tall, begging for him to come back inside or he would be late. But then Hank looked at Connor, his worried face and slightly teary eyes, full on confusion and questions. And he wouldn't care how late he would be.

"I heard what you said in the gallery", Hank starts slowly. Connor swallows down a lump in his throat, then lets his mouth fall open as he lets out a heavy breath, trying to hold back tears. Why was he so emotional?

Hank sighs and moves his hand up to his brown hair, ruffling it gently, before it falls to hold his face. Connor looked like he was breaking down, far too worried about being rejected. He gently leans against Hank's palm.

"And I know what you're going to say now. Just ... don't say it yet, alright?" Hank almost pleaded, his voice a little shaky. 

Connor feels slightly indecisive, not quite sure what he should do or how he should react. He just stands there, his hands shaking against his legs and his bottom lip trembling. He doesn't understand at all. Connor closes his eyes and his head falls back down, wishing that things would have turned out better.

This is not what he planned at all.

Anderson moves closer, pulling Connor into a gentle embrace. His hand moves behind Connor's hair, fingers tracing against his curls and the back of his neck, the contact slightly ticklish. Hank's other hand wraps around his waist and pulls him strongly against his body. He presses his chin against Connor's head, letting out a shaky breath. Connor binds his arms around Hank's body, his fingers grabbing tightly onto his jacket as he buries his head against the man's chest.

"Save it for later. When I'm ready to hear it", Anderson whispers to him, gently pressing his lips against his scalp, so strongly that Connor would feel them. He can hear the young man let out a strained sob and he rubs his face tighter against Hank's chest, completely burying himself against him.

"Let's just stay like this for a moment. Please", Hank begs silently and closes his eyes.

 

Silent minutes pass between them. The city around them is loud and uproarious, cars honking and people talking loudly. They can hear people walking up the stairs, whispering something as they pass them. A group of teenagers with a radio playing music pass them on the street, laughter so loud it goes over the tunes. A dog is barking in the distance. A baby is crying somewhere. But nothing bothers them. They hold onto each other strongly, nonchalant about the world around them. Connor knows he should return back to school, and Hank knows he should get back to the gallery. But neither of them want to move.

When Connor has finally collected enough air into his lungs and no more tears were forming in his eyes, he opens his mouth. "I meant what I said", Connor whispers quietly against Hank's chest. His grip on Hank's jacket loosened and he pressed his palms flat against the curve of his back, feeling the smoothness of his tailored clothing.

"I know you did", Anderson says quietly, smelling Connor's hair quietly. "I'm just not ready to say it back yet."

Connor isn't sure if those words hurt him, or made him feel hopeful. He moved even closer to Hank, pressing every part of him against him as much as he could. 

"I wanna say those words to you another time. But not today", Hank continued, and then Connor was sure Hank Anderson loved him too. He smiled, releasing a sound that was a mix between a sob and laughter as he lifted his head up. Hank's hand trailed from the back of his neck to the side, sliding slowly up to his cheek. He trailed kisses from his hair down to his forehead, and Connor tip toed a little, moving his head back a little more.

 _Hank loves me too_ , he thought and smiled a little wider. Connor didn't care that Hank was not yet ready to say it. He was happy to just know their feelings were mutual.

Hank presses his lips against his eyebrows, then against his temple. His thumb strokes Connor's cheek gently as he trails more kisses down his face. He presses a careful kiss right under Connor's right eye and he can hear the boy gasp a little. He then kisses the bridge of his nose, then the tip, before Hank finally moves away so he could see Connor's face. His pouty lips are parted open, begging to be kissed, his eyes closed like he was asleep. Hank inspected his every feature while he could. Connor had beautiful eyelashes and a few cute moles on his face. His skin was quite pale and almost as perfect as in commercials, eyebrows cleanly trimmed and lips perfectly soft pink. Hank secretly loved his cleft chin, and his hand trails down so he can run a thumb over it. Connor's eyes flutter open.

Connor looks back at Hank, admiring the beautiful hints of wrinkles that marred his face, completely drowning in his sky colored eyes. Those same eyes were looking at him intently, burning with passion that he fought to keep hidden, at least for now.

Complete vehemence was radiating between them, and even if Hank Anderson had said he needed more time, he was in constant battle with his urges. 

He wanted Connor so bad.

But he wanted to be fully ready for him, do it when it was the right time.

Connor deserved the best.

 

Hank Anderson warily pressed his lips against Connor's forehead again, giving him a chaste kiss that made Connor's eyes close again, his sylphlike body pressing against Hank's much plumper form a little harder. Connor's hand move down Hank's body, traveling to his sides, then to his soft stomach. Hank keeps his lips against his forehead, but a soft moan escapes from his lips, and Connor's whole body jerks a little from it. He gently presses his fingers a little harder against Hank's belly, before he trails them up to his chest. His chest was soft to the touch too, maybe a little bit harder compared to his stomach.. 

His hands finally move up Hank's neck, fingers tickling him a little, getting another soft moan as a reward. Connor smiles, opens his eyes slowly as his hands move to cup Hank's cheeks. Hank looks back down at him and flashes a weak smile.

 

For a moment, a fleeting thought passes Hank's mind and he leans down to kiss Connor's beautiful lips, but he tells himself to stop. He needs time to think. Instead, Hank ends up pressing them to the side, kissing the corner of his mouth. It's as passionate at it can be, Connor's breathing tickling his skin as the young man silently tries to lean to the side and catch Hank's lips over his. But when their lips gently brush against each other, Hank pulls away.

"Soon. I promise", Anderson whispers to him.

That's all Connor needed to hear.

 

They slowly break away from each other and without words, continue their own ways.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this was hard but also fun. All of the art works I explain in this chapter are made up by my own lovely brain. Making them up was fun as hell lol


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Hank finally embrace each other. But there are some things that can't be pushed away, not even by love.
> 
>  

Connor finds it extremely laborious to contact Hank before Tuesday hits the calendar. Every time he tried to type a message, he had no idea how to put his thoughts or emotions into words. He typed multiple texts, or their beginnings, but always ended up erasing them. Connor had tried to even call Hank, but when the first loud 'beep' echoed in his ear, he had quickly ended the call and not touched his phone for hours. He was fudging Hank Anderson. After what had happened, on the gallery date and especially after it, he wasn't sure how he was going to keep himself together. He had no idea how he could face Hank again while keeping a straight face. 

Tuesday came and Connor couldn't find the strength or bravery to go to the art meeting. He feels so troubled about it, almost hating himself, but Connor needed time to sort his feelings out. And he is sure Anderson would understand. The first thing in the morning, he forces himself to type out a message for Hank, blaming that he was sick and wasn't able to come today.

There was never an answer. 

Connor continues going to school and work as always, hanging out with his friends, opening up to them about the situation he had, and in return getting the support he needed. And before he realizes, it's Saturday and Connor is in front of The Eden Gallery, right at seven. Days had passed so fast that Connor felt like he had been in a deep stupor, not even realizing it had been a whole week since the last time he had seen Hank Anderson. He stares at the stairs for long, stopping on the spot for a moment where he and Hank had embraces each other. It makes him nervous, and it takes him a few more minutes before he is able to enter the gallery, knowing far too well he was a little late for the meeting.

When he is finally inside, he is hesitating a little before he walks to the counter and meets with the blue haired assistant again. She smiles widely at him, brushing some of her bright blue hair behind her ear. "It's good to see you again. Hank has been asking about you", is the first thing she says before Connor has even taken out his gallery card and given it to her. 

"What?" is the only thing Connor is able to mutter out as the lady behind the register takes the car to herself and checks Connor in. He feels a little confused and can only stare at the woman, who simply flashes a smile and batted her long eyelashes.

"He was looking for you on Tuesday. First came to ask me if you had visited, then kept visiting the lounge for an hour, like he was checking if you had come. I felt a little bad for him", she explains before offering the card back to Connor and telling him to have fun.

 

 

_Hank was looking for me?_

 

 

Connor finds himself unable to move. Sudden fear takes over him, before it finally calms down to uncomfortable tension that takes over his whole body. He suddenly feels bad for not being here on Tuesday. Had Hank not seen his message? Was Hank here all alone, just desperate for Connor to come and visit? A sudden ominous atmosphere takes over him and Connor wants to turn around and run back home.

But then he thinks about what the assistant has just told him. The idea of Hank waiting for him, looking for him made his heart also warm. Hank had obviously missed him. Just like Connor had missed him.

Before he even realizes, Connor is running.

Running so fast that he is barely able to catch any air into his lungs.

 

 

 

 

Connor almost slams himself against the door as he enters the room, already out of breath. Everyone turns to look at him, the whole room falling silent. Connor notices the desks in the middle of the room that had been put together to create a large table, chairs surrounding it. Connor saw three familiar faces - the family he had met when he first visited one of these nights. Luther was making jokes with the little girl Alice sitting on his lap, cutting shapes out of colorful papers. Her apparent mother, Kara, sat next to them, looking through a book. She wasn't reading it, more like quickly looking past the pages like she was looking for something. There was another family, an old woman with two boys with her, both a few years older than Alice was. Connor stands by the door way and looks around curiously. The table is stacked with all kinds of supplies made for arts and crafts - glue sticks, stickers, papers, scissors, glitter and books, a lot of books. It was a little extravagant to have three piles of old books when there were only seven people to use them. Connor was quite curious to know what the books were meant for.

"Oh."

Connor turns around faster than the light and sees Hank Anderson standing by the doorway, so close to him. Connor's first reaction is to jump out of the way so Hank can enter the room. He had a box full of color pencils in his hands, all worn out and used. "Hello, Connor. I wasn't ... expecting to see you today", Hank says, looking up and down at Connor's exhausted form. Connor catches air into his lungs before he straightens his body up. He feels a little hot under his white sweater, since it was quite thick and the collar was so high it felt like it was choking him out a little. 

Also Hank Anderson was there, only a feet away from him, making Connor feel even hotter.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make it last time", Connor immediately apologizes, his hands playing with the hem of his shirt. Finally, Hank gives him a smile, that beautiful, impeccable gesture that fit him so well and always made Connor's heart flutter. "That's quite alright. You're here now. Just take a seat", Hank tells him before he walks over to the table, lays the box of pencils in the middle before he takes a seat and relaxes. Connor lingers in his spot for a moment, before he finally tells himself to move and he sits beside Anderson, setting his bag down onto the floor.

"We are doing blackout poetry today. Do you know what that is?" Hank asks, just when Connor was going to ask about all the books on the table. He shakes his head and Hank picks out a random book and opens a page. He picks out a black marker and suddenly starts coloring over the words, completely ruining the untainted page. Connor watches in horror, the view of Hank just drawing over the paper so jarring to look at that Connor felt anxious. Hank does it as quickly as possible and when he is finally finished, Connor sees that the man has covered all of the words under the marker, expect three. ' _I am alive'_ were the only words Connor was able to read out now from the defiled book page.

"Simply put, you pick out the words you want to keep, and cross out the rest of the text in order to make your own little poem", Hank explained and showed the poem to Connor, before he roughly ripped out the page and put the book back on top of the pile. "Then you can decorate your little poem, if you want", he then says, takes out some stickers and puts a cute little dinosaur at the corner of the paper. How ironic.

"Ah, so I just redact it", Connor comments. Hank hums as an answer. 

"You use someone else's words to turn them into yours. Perfect kind of poetry for people who do not know how to do pick out the right words", Anderson explains. He picks out another book, so old that the pages had turned yellow and Hank warily presses it against his face and gives it a sniff. Completely enamored, Connor watches him until their eyes lock together and Connor looks shyly away. He decides to get to work. He looks through the stack of books and ends up picking some kind of a sex ed book that kids read at school, the one that introduced you to puberty, sexuality and such things like that. He also takes out a large novel, and the only reason he takes that specific book is because it's completely broken, the cover completely gone and pages falling out.

"I feel a little bad about destroying a book", Connor chuckles out, even if the book he picked out is already past its better days. 

"Don't worry, they're remnants. Books that have been laying in some corner for years, completely untouched. Like this, there is at least some use for them", Anderson says as he starts reading through the book he had picked. He ends up staring the first page for long, before he turns it and starts reading the second page. Connor suspected Hank wasn't too interested in making poems himself. 

 

 

Connor takes a pair of scissors and slowly cuts out a page, feeling so heinous about it, like he was committing a crime. He then starts looking for certain words, having some kind of an idea of a poem he wanted to make. But this was a lot harder than he thought. No matter what words he chose, Connor was always insatiable about the progress. At the end, he decided to take out one of those colorful papers and he started cutting out the words he wanted to use from two different books, forming his own sentences, planning to glue the words he had cut out into the paper. Not the way Hank had showed him to do it, but this was easier for him.

"So, you were sick last Tuesday?" Hank asked, his eyes still carefully reading through the book pages, his index finger tapping gently against the edge of the book. 

"I thought you didn't get my message", Connor comments as he cuts out another word that just sounded nice. Hank looks away from his book, raising his brows at the boy.

"I did get your message. What makes you think I didn't?"

Connor quickly looks around. Kara, Luther and Alice all seemed busy when making poems. Alice was quite vigilant, pouring a mountain of glitter over her work and laughing about it, while Kara quickly started cleaning it up. He looks at the other family, the old sweet lady wearing a soft smile over her face all the time, while the boys with her weren't that interested in poems. They were playing their own games, and Connor did his best to ignore their loud cackling.

"Well, you didn't reply. And I heard that you were looking for me on Tuesday", Connor says with a cocky grin as he cuts out more words. Hank freezes. Finding contentment in the man's reaction, Connor chuckles loudly in victory. Hank seemed a little flustered as his eyes kept moving from the book pages to Connor, then back to the pages, clearly a little nervous.

"The nice lady behind the counter told me that you visited the lounge quite often, just looking around like you were waiting for someone", Connor continues, every now and then eyeing back at Hank, who seemed to have a harder time focusing on his reading. Anderson looked like he was sulking a little, hiding more and more behind his book.

"I was looking for you", Hank finally admits. He peeks behind the book, hoping to end the conversation in an amicable way. But Connor doesn't give up that easy. He wants to tease Hank just a little more.

"I told you I was sick. Why would you be looking for me?" Connor asks, cutting out even more words, not really knowing what kind of sentences he was going to be building up yet. But he could do that later. Hank Anderson doesn't answer for a while. His tongue quickly draws over his bottom lip, before his teeth drag against them, the view so sexually frustrating to watch that Connor has to look away for a second to catch his breath. An awkward minute passes between them, the sound of the families talking to each other playing in the background like music. A little savory about the volatile conversation that Hank refused to continue, Connor starts cutting more words out of the pages. 

He can hear Hank smack his lips quietly. "Because I wanted to see you", he quietly mutters without looking away from his book. Anderson moves his hand behind the back of his head, playing with his grizzled hair, once again put in a loose ponytail that gave him such a susceptible look. Connor loved Hank's style, the round glasses always on his head and a crazy colored shirt paired with a fashionable brown suit, always professional as possible. Connor chuckles again, feeling mighty proud of himself as he continues his crafting.

"Were you really sick?" Hank Anderson asks. His eyes are still intently glued to the book, now two fingers tapping against the cover in a rhythm of a song Connor could not recognize. 

"No", Connor conceded. Finally, Hank turns to look at him and their eyes catch each other like a reflection, and soon both of them end up smiling.

 

 

 

Multiple minutes pass in the comfortable silence, the melody of scissors cutting into paper, the pages turning and quiet talking filling the room like a bed time song. Connor is slowly working on his poem, even if he wasn't quite sure what he was doing. He was cutting multiple words from the novel and the school book and then trying to form a story with them. Sometimes, he cut out single letters and formed a completely new word with them, placing them over the colorful paper. He had something planned out, a single theme picked out for his poem, and now he only had to make up the poem itself.

"You're putting a lot of time to that."

Hank Anderson has put his book down and was now inspecting carefully what Connor was working on. "I'm a perfectionist", Connor mumbles before he returns back to his work. He has the beginning of the poem planned out, but he doesn't yet want to glue the words on the paper, in case he changes his mind. So, he moves very carefully and slowly, making sure he doesn't make any sudden movements that would make the words he has cut out fly around and disappear. Hank watches him silently a little while longer, before he inches a little closer. Then, he moves a little closer again. 

He sticks his leg out and Connor can feel the tip of Hank's shoes jabbing against his ankle. Connor can't help but laugh a little and he tries to keep his hands steady, since he was placing more words on top of the paper, trying to position them just right. He swallows, before he brushes his leg against Hank's, just making a tiny movement to answer him. He can hear Hank let out an amused huff, before he pulls his leg away and instead, leans closer with his whole body. As he does so, he lays his hand on top of his knee that was almost touching Connor's leg. Connor swallows.

"It looks interesting so far", Hank comments, leaning closer than he needed to. "I like your way of doing it. Cutting words -", Hank moves his finger in circles over Connor's work, "- from different pages to get the perfect result. It's clever."

Connor nervously starts looking for the next word in the pile of small pieces of papers he has cut out, his hands a little shaky. He can see Hank looking at his hands, carefully inspecting the line of bones protruding strongly under the pale skin. Hank's hand that was laid over his knee carefully slides to the left, moving over Connor's leg.

Connor stops completely. His hand is holding one of the words he has cut out, the piece of paper flapping around because of the shakiness of his hand. Hank presses his palm against Connor's knee, spreading his fingers wide apart, holding onto him strongly. "You have quite many words cut out. Are you still deciding what kind of a poem you want to make?" Anderson asks, his hand slowly sliding higher. Hank stops his hand over Connor's skinny thigh, his hand laid on it extremely gently, like he was afraid to break him.

"Yeah. I want it to have a certain message, but it's hard to get my feelings into words", Connor explains, his voice low like he didn't want anyone else to hear them. "Especially when I can't write them myself."

Connor looks down between his legs, analyzing the hand in the midway of his leg. He can barely feel it, and he can clearly see Hank's hand trembling. He guesses the man was nervous, which was ... understandable, but still unusual. Hank Anderson was always the brave one between them, but something seems to have turned off his switch. Or turned the tables around.

Connor watches his hand intently. His touch is soft, sentient for more yet not brave enough to press down deeper, harder. So Connor lifts his leg higher into the air so he can feel Hank's palm press stronger against his thigh. Hank noticed this and he looks at Connor right into his eyes, their faces so perfectly positioned for a kiss. Connor is full of discontentment, knowing he can't kiss him when there were people around. But he could show Hank what he was thinking about.

He carefully parts his lips, his half lidded eyes piercing into Hank as he slowly moved his tongue out and swiped it over his bottom lip, letting it linger a little while at the corner of his mouth before letting it swipe over his top lip, too. This move works like a charm on Hank - his face grows completely red, his whole body recoils and his hand is suddenly grabbing so tightly onto Connor's thigh that a soft moan escapes from him. 

And then Hank pulls back in an atrocious way that makes Connor silently whine. For a moment, Connor is quite happy he has been the one to tease Hank. But when he sees that look in the man's eyes right before he turns his gaze back to his book, Connor realizes that Hank seems to be a little more than just flustered or shy.

He seemed afraid.

 

 

 

 

 

10 minutes before eight, Anderson suggest that everyone reads their poems out loud. The old lady starts first, reading her poem about rodents slowly but with full of assiduity. The boys with her weren't as enthusiastic to read their poems as they didn't have much done, but after their grandmother had insisted them a little they both quickly read their poems and sit back down. Alice read her poem out slowly and clearly, making sure everyone heard it, before showing the way she had decorated the page, drawings and stickers covering the words she had not used.

She also had another one made and Alice could not help but giggle as she read through it.

 

 

_Back pain and milk_

_I feel sick_

_And internet sucks_

_I jumped out of t_ _he window_

_My stomach works o_ _nly once a week_

_Ew_

 

 

Laughter erupted in the room, before they continued to the next ones. And then Connor is asked to read his. He looks down at his paper. He had some words glued onto it, but he wasn't quite sure if he was done yet. But everyone in the room kept insisting him to read it so Connor had no choice but to stand up with his unfinished poem in his hands. "I, uhh, cut words from multiple pages and then put them together in this piece of paper ... It's quite of a mess, because I wanted to make a certain story to this poem but I had a hard time forming sentences", Connor tries to explain why his poem looked different compared to the others. 

"It's your own creative way of doing it. Besides, blackout poems are made to be a little messy", Hank Anderson says to him and gives him a confident look, trying to show Connor he had his support. Connor nervously swallows, plays a little with the sleeves of his white sweater before he starts reading. As he reads, his eyes sometimes lift themselves from the paper and make quick eye contact with Hank who is closely watching him, listening.

 

 

 

_Love_

_A strong mutual embrace_

_But for some reason, I am afraid_

_I miss the memory of us_

_Body in need of acceptance_

_Our relationship_

_It is the art of deprivation_

_I crave you_

_And I promise_

_My feelings have matured_

_I promise_

 

 

 

Before anyone has even said anything, Connor is mumbling about how his poem is not yet finished and how he didn't know how to properly do it, but everyone is already shushing him, telling him it was good before they started clapping. Connor sits down and looks at Hank for a sign of approval but all he can see his surprised expression. Hank simply gives him a nod, before he rubs his hands together and informs everyone it was time to go. Everyone cleans up their seats, puts the supplies where they belong and takes their poems as they leave. Connor read his poem through again, and looks through the other words he has cut out, wondering if he had time to fix his poem up or add something a little more. But soon Hank Anderson is walking over to him, a little quieter than usual. Connor looks at him, but Hank Anderson stays silent.

"... At the end, it actually reads 'I grape you', but I vocally changed that. I thought it would be funny", he says a little quietly when Hank doesn't say anything. "Really?" Hank's curiosity comes up and he leans closer again to read the poem. He reads it through, but doesn't see the word 'grape' anywhere, and he realizes Connor has played a joke on him. He jabs him against the side and Connor jumps violently with laughter, before he puts his poem into his bag and puts it over his shoulder.

Just as he is about to turn to Anderson and say his goodbyes, Hank opens his mouth.

"I was thinking ... If you had a little time now ...", he starts, hands tied behind his back. Connor shrugs. "I guess I have time. What's up?" he says, trying to seem cool but not succeeding at it too well. Hank leans against the table, pressing his palm against the hard surface of the wooden desk, his other hand deep in his pant pocket.

"Would you like to see my workplace?"

The last time Hank Anderson talked about his workplace was when Connor was hard in his pants and he had to run off into the bathroom. The memory of it makes him blush a little but he bites the inside of his cheek to stay quiet. Without realizing it completely, Connor is already nodding and Hank smiles at him, but only for a second.

"Don't worry about cleaning up. I'll do it later. Come", Hank tells him before he is already taking out his keys and heading out of the room. All Connor can do is to follow him.

 

 

 

After locking the art room's door, they turn right and walk along the corridor, soon turning left and taking the first door on the right. Hank fiddles with his keys for a moment before he turns the right one in and opens the door, welcoming Connor in. The first thing Connor notices is the thick, fuggy scent that is taking over the room. It's a wild mix of oil paint, dust and old remains of coffee that fill his nostrils, and the smell tickles his nose a little. As he enters he can feel the temperature rising almost immediately. He immediately feels warmer under his sweater and his throat feels a little hoarse, but otherwise it wasn't that bad. Hank turns the lights on, the lamp turning the room softly yellow and Connor notices it's barely bright enough to be used as lightning for detailed working.

Connor walks in a little deeper into the room as Hank closes the door behind them, locking it. There is a large desk on the right, the dim blue surface of it covered in colorful drops of paint, and near the table there was a creaky chair that had seen better days. Connor can see a large black sofa pressed against a wall, clearly brand new and in the best condition compared to the rest of the room. The back of the couch was short, and the cushions were large and wide, almost passing the seat as a bed. It indeed did have a pillow pressed down at the other end, and a colorful blanket was neatly put over it. On the corner of the room there is a wooden easel with a canvas laid on it, the painting Connor had seen Hank work on before. Behind it, there were more canvases, most of them white and unused, while some of them had something painted on them, but never finished.

"I sometimes work so late, I end up sleeping here. The couch is not as comfortable as my own bed at home, but it's a great place for some naps", Hank Anderson explains as he walks past Connor in the middle of the room. He gestures to the side and Connor sees a doorway that lead you to another room. He curiously walks towards it and finds himself entering a whole photographic studio, the cheap kind he had seen at his own school. There is a large white sheet covering the wall and the floor in front of it and in the middle there is a tiny stool sitting alone. A pair of large flash heads on light stands are pointing at the white background, wide softboxes placed over the lights so the light is pointed at a certain direction. There was a camera stand with an expensive looking photo taker placed on it, pointing at the stool like it was waiting for a model.

"Here's my photo studio. It's probably as cheap as it can get, but here's where I work most of the time", Hank explains. Connor looks around carefully, hands playing with the strap of his bag as he moves around slowly, stepping over the wires and outlets, making sure he wouldn't destroy anything. He sees a table with an expensive looking computer on it and right next to it a large printer, worth more than Connor could even imagine. He sees a thick red folder on the table and moves towards it. Connor blithely picks it up, giving a quick look to Hank who wasn't stopping him, so the young man suspected he was allowed to look through.

It was a portfolio. Black and white pictures had been placed inside sheet protectors, some of the pictures small while some of them were so large they barely fit inside the plastic protective sleeve. The pictures are all detailed and well thought but sometimes just simply taken in the heat of a moment. Connor liked the subjects Hank Anderson had decided to take a picture of - close ups to the walls of an building, extremely detailed shots of flower petals, portraits of people who have been modeling for him. One portrait catches Connor's attention and he ends up looking at the model a little longer than he meant to. 

It's a photo of a young man with light colored hair and pale skin. He is shirtless, eyes closed and a calm expression on his face. What was so unique about this particular model was the large scars on the left side of his face. In addition to a large number of smaller scars that took over the deformed side of his head, the man also had two wide, open gashes that were painful to look at. He had flowers and plants around him, one delicate flower pressed over his chest while a forest-like view grew behind him. The model looked happy and calm, like he had never been this comfortable.

Connor finds himself gawping at the photo silently until Hank swivels around him and moves to lean against the table, hands placed against its surface, his composition relaxed. Connor slowly inches away from the table and bites down onto his lip. "How did he get those scars?" Connor asks as he turns the portfolio around and shows Hank the photo he was talking about.

"They were caused by burning. Most likely deliberate", Anderson answers quietly, his body leaning against the table in such a calm way, but his face was serious and strict, his brows furrowed as he watched Connor look through his photos. Connor lifted his head up, at the same time turning a page.

"Self-harm?" Connor asked, tilting his head a little to the side. Hank only nods quietly at him.

"His name was Ralph. He was a gardener. That's why he was very eager to model with flowers", Hank explained to him. Connor looks through the photos a little more, and he finds one common theme with Hank's photos - he had an unique choice of things he wanted to photograph. Sure, there were photos every artist would take like shots of coffee cups and pictures of the sky, but Hank also seemed to be intrigued to take photos of something people would otherwise overlook. There is a picture of a wheelchair, a shot of an old woman's wrinkly face, a picture of simple shadows laid against a wall. All of his models weren't perfect - many of them had scars and marks over their many shaped bodies, some of the models even missing a limb. Connor smiles. Clearly Hank Anderson wanted to show the beauty of things that wasn't appreciated enough. Connor already loved Hank's works, so dignified and full of fervor.

 

 

 

"Hank, you have so much talent, and not just in photographs, but in drawing and painting, too. You should put these on display, just like Carl Manfred does", Connor says to him as he turns more pages, looking through them like an excited child reading a comic book. "Who knows. Maybe you could even sell them."

"My income is sufficient for my needs. I don't really see the need to sell my works", Anderson mutters, shifting in his position a little, holding tightly onto the edge of the table while playfully moving his fingers around a little. His bottom was just lightly seated on the surface like he didn't dare to jump on top of the desk, and that tiny detail of his ass on top of the table was all Connor could focus on. He shook his head strongly to focus more on the conversation. "You sound insecure", Connor quickly pointed out and turned another page, pretending to be extremely interested in Hank's photos. Well, he actually was.

Hank Anderson chuckles a little. "I guess so. I don't really think anyone would be interested to buy any of my photos", he mutters quietly. Connor quirks his eyebrow.

"How about selling your paintings, then?" he suggested. Hank just laughs for a moment before shaking his head as to show he wasn't too pleased with the idea. "I can't paint", he said quietly. Connor couldn't understand how Hank Anderson was so incredulous about his own abilities. He had learned Hank wasn't at the best place right now, but it was ridiculous how he denied having any talent, when he was clearly a professional. Connor looks away from the portfolio for a moment and just inspects Hank. The man looked a little troubled so Connor decided to cheer him up, instead of make him talk about his troubles.

"If you hear a voice within you say you cannot paint _,_  then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced", Connor speaks out like he was talking to a crowd of people with a benevolent smile. "That's a quote by Vincent van Gogh."

Hank Anderson looks at him, a surprised look in his eyes. He lets out a pleased huff. "You even remember his quotes. Quite impressive."

Connor shakes his head. "Not really. I memorized that one for you."

 

Hank just stared at him in silence before he chuckled and lowered his eyes, batting his lashes and veritably glowing with Connor's praise. Connor chuckles a little, plays with the sleeve of his sweater as he places the album on top of the printer and continues looking through the rest of the photos. Connor is leaning against the printer, sticking out his ass a little and as he peeks at Hank with the corner of his eye, he wiggles his bottom a little. He immediately gets a reaction, Hank turning his eyes away and heavily biting into his lip. Connor couldn't help but laugh, humming happily, just thinking about how he was so in love with this amiable man. As he looks through the photos, Connor can't help but feel nervous. He can feel Anderson inspecting him carefully, clearly pondering his next move in silence, whether he should take it or not. Connor felt excited in the bottom of his stomach, experiencing so strong sentient feelings that he swore he was a little high.

Connor is about to do something a little dangerous, when he suddenly freezes and once again ends up gawping at a picture. It's a picture of a young boy holding a sun flower, smiling so hard his cheeks were all chubby. It's a face Connor has seen before. Hank had once drawn that face.

It's Cole.

Hank Anderson's deceased son.

"Cole is here", Connor says quietly and turns to look at Hank. His face falls down.

"I know."

 

 

For long, Hank doesn't really say anything. His face is looking down at the ground, one hand pressed over his thigh, slowly moving into a tight fist. Connor waits patiently. He can just see that something is bothering Hank but he has a hard time saying it. So, for multiple, dead silent minutes Connor just looks through the photos once more, inspecting them carefully, admiring every little detail, wondering what was the story behind them. Connor closes the album when he hears Hank let out a shaky breath.

"Connor, I'm sorry about the gallery date. It could have went better", Anderson mutters. He moves his hand to his forehead and draws his loose hair out of his face.

"No, it's fine. Your old friend was outrageous. I just hope you're okay", Connor comforts him, following Hank's movement to also brush some of his hair behind, the few strands falling right back over his forehead like they were glued there. Hank Anderson just huffs a little, a small hint of a thankful smile taking over his face before it disappears again. And Hank seems to fall even deeper into his own thoughts. Anderson inhales strongly before letting the air run out of his mouth, his hand grabbing tighter onto the edge of the table.

"After Cole passed away, I cut ties to everyone around me", Hank started. The hand he was holding into a fist relaxed and his fingers played around like they wanted to hold something. A bottle, perhaps. "I lost some friends, like Gavin, and coworkers stopped saying good morning ... All because I decided to put my anger on them", he mumbles out. His fingers are playing with the air a little before he presses his hand against his thigh again, fingers pressing down hard. Connor swallows heavily and decides to keep his distance, at least for now.

"I still think what happened at the gallery was wrong. You don't deserve that kind of treatment", Connor insisted. It was all still so clear in his memory like a bad nightmare you couldn't shake away. What had happened at the gallery was something that seemed to have made Hank a little ... broken, if you dared to say, and Connor would not let Hank guilt trip himself about it. Suddenly, Hank stands up and walks over to Connor, opening the album again to the page where there was a picture of Cole in one try, like he had memorized the place of the photo. Like he looked at it every day.

"Gavin Reed was a shit friend, but at least he was a friend", Anderson tells him, trying to justify Gavin's actions at the gallery somehow. "I was a shit to him, more than once. He has the right to yell about it."

Connor doesn't really know what to say to that. He doesn't know the full story, but he can tell Hank Anderson is trying to play the villain here. Connor can only imagine what has happened in the man's past, but he knows Hank is a good person. He just knows it. Hank tilts his head to the side a little as he runs his fingers over the portrait of his son, his eyes fixated on the large sun flower the boy was holding.

"Did you know that flower petals falling symbolize the end of a short life?" Hank says quietly. Connor just quietly looks at him, almost able to feel the pain Hank was going through. Just when Connor is about to reach his hand out to him and rub Hank's backside, the man turns his back to him and walks back to the table. Connor can see Hank remove his glasses for a moment, his hand rubbing his eyes as another shaky breath escapes from his throat. Connor so badly wants to hug him, but before he is brave enough to take a step, Hank is already putting his glasses back over his nose and moving back to his spot, leaning against the table and simply looking around the room like he didn't already know every little detail of it.

 

 

Connor looks at the photo again before he decides to close the portfolio and leave it on top of the printer. He looks at Hank who is trying so hard to hide his insecurities and other dark feelings that were going through his mind right now. It seemed like Hank didn't see himself as a sentient being and was blaming himself for everything. His face was full of guilt, his body quite tense, hands clenching around the table's edge so hard his fingers were turning red. Connor didn't understand much about the situation or what Hank was going through, but the best he could do is to comfort them.

He remembers that quite many of the portraits had flowers used as props in them, like the one with the scarred gardener. Connor supposes that Hank Anderson liked flowers, so he decided to make something up related to them, just so he could make the man feel better about himself. "I like to see people as flowers sometimes. It helps me to see beauty in everyone", he starts. Hank already lifts his head up, positioning his glasses better on his nose as he slowly returns to his normal, cheerful self.

"Really? What kind of a flower would I be?" Hank asks, now lifting the corners of his mouth a little. Connor bites down onto his tongue as he tries to come up with a flower, any kind of flower. But he has always been bad memorizing any flower names. Instead, he tries to imagine Hank as a complete new flower, the kind that does not exist yet.

"I think you would be a small flower, growing between the paving stones in the middle of the city", Connor finally answers. Hank seems surprised as his eyes open a little wider and his eyebrows lift up. "You feel like you're having a hard time surviving, when the air is toxic and people are always stepping on you. But you refuse to give up", Connor continues, feeling quite poetic about his choice of words but he didn't care. He always talked like this, and there was no one else but Hank who always understood what he meant without questioning or making fun of him. 

"You're the kind of flower that stands out from the crowd", Connor ends his little monologue, memorizing the first time he had seen Hank with a smile on his face. Such a simple moment had made Hank Anderson, a normal man working as an art gallery assistant, stood out from the crowd just for him, like he was more beautiful than the art works around him. It was a day Connor would never forget. Anderson chuckles a little, his smile growing a little wider before it turns into a frown again.

"I kinda feel like a flower that is dying", Anderson muttered, begrudging Connor's youth compared to his old age. His gaze falls down onto the floor again and Connor lets out a soft sigh.

"Well ... All you need is a single drop of rain water to bloom again."

Connor can see the smallest twinkle in Hank's eyes after those words, until it disappears again. Hank swallows heavily before he lifts his head up again and looks at Connor. "And how about you, Connor? What kind of a flower would you be?" he asked, tilting his head to the side a little. Connor drags his teeth against his bottom lip and finally took a step forward. Connor's heart started pounding harder, faster, as he took careful steps towards Hank who stayed completely still.

"I don't think I would want to be a flower", Connor says quietly. He places his hand against the table and drags it against the surface as he comes closer to Hank.

"I'd want to be that one drop of rain water. For you."

 

 

 

After divulging his feelings towards the man, Connor moves his hand over Hank's that was still holding onto the table's edge. Hank, completely flabbergasted by Connor's words, looks down at their hands, unable to move. Connor presses his hand down harder, swiping his thumb over the back of Hank's hand as he inches closer, and closer. Hank lifts his head and watches Connor as he is soon so close their bodies are gently pressing against each other. Connor gazes at him, his eyes slightly wide, lips softly parted. Connor's eyes fall down to Hank's lips before quickly looking back up nervously.

Connor leans in a little closer, his eyes now focusing more on Hank's mouth that slightly opens up for him, a hot breath blowing against Connor's skin. Connor can feel his heart beating so loudly against his chest, his hand clutching a little harder on Hank's hand as he leans closer and presses his lips gently against his, the contact as insubstantial as a feather. 

 

Connor knew Hank Anderson loved him back, he was sure of it. And when he could feel Hank kiss him back, he was glad to have his surmise confirmed to be true. 

 

The kiss was reciprocated, Hank's lips answering his with the most gentle pressure and Connor could feel lights sparkling inside his body, blood running wildly in his veins. It was the most gentle kiss he had ever felt, much softer than he had imagined to have with a man like Hank. They stayed still like that for multiple seconds that felt like hours, completely still, just holding their lips together before Connor slowly pulls away and flutters his eyes open. Their eyes meet again and they just look at each other. Connor swallows. He wanted more.

Connor moves closer to Hank, moving one of his legs between Hank's as he leans in for another kiss. This time, Hank is a little more eager to answer it, as his other hand moves to cup Connor's cheek and he pulls him closer. Connor softly moans against the kiss, his other hand staying still over Hank's hand, fingers gently caressing the hairy, slightly clammy skin, moving over the knuckles that were pointing out. His heart was going so crazy under his chest, butterflies flapping around in his stomach as Connor felt like he could no longer even stand. He had been dreaming about this moment for so long, and finally he had it. He was experiencing it, and it felt so real. Everything in his body felt more alive than ever before, every touch and move of lips so sensitive, blood coursing through his veins, heating up his body. He felt like he could pass out just from this feeling.

Hank softly broke away from the kiss, took some air into his lungs before he leaned in once more, so insatiable that he could not hold back. Hank was the first one to move his lips over his, letting them brush over Connor, setting up a careful pace. Connor completely melted, his feelings rekindling completely as fire started lightning up in his body, making everything feel so, so warm. Suddenly, everything was full of passion, the air hot between their bodies that were almost crushed together. Connor answered the kiss eagerly, moving his lips over Hank's, tasting and savoring him. Hank tasted like coffee, something that seemed like mint he had taken a long time ago, and then there was that sweet flavor that only tasted like him. Connor could not get enough.

Hank's hand moves down from Connor's cheek down to his neck, his fingers tickling against the skin. Connor reacts to it wildly and he carefully presses his body closer to Hank, feeling their stomachs press together harder. Connor's hand still stays on top of Hank's like he was keeping it trapped there, while his other hand shakily moved to lay on top of Hank's chest. It feels soft and he can't help but grab the meat a little, earning a slight shake from Hank as a reaction. 

Everything about it was so content, so perfect, and Connor could not have wished for better. He no longer felt afraid, but there was that tingly feeling all over his body that made him almost explode. Connor could barely hold himself back the longer the kiss went on. He moved his lips hungrily over his like he was enjoying a veritable feast, yet nothing could ease his hunger for more. Hank groans quietly against the kiss, the sound of it vibrating through Connor's body, giving him the wildest goosebumps he had ever felt.

Hank gently presses a finger against Connor's windpipe, moving it in gentle, massaging circles, earning a soft moan to escape against his mouth. Connor's body is almost completely breaking down as he leans harder against Hank's chubby form, soft as a pillow.  A tongue enters his mouth, and Connor moans, opening his mouth wider as he trails his tongue over Hank's. It all feels far too good for a kiss, and Connor is starting to grow excited, literally. He presses his groin against Hank's thigh, and rubs himself against him. He can feel Hank draw his tongue back and hot air is blown against his lips.

 

And then suddenly, Hank is pushing him away.

 

 

 

 

"Connor. Stop, I can't -"

 

Connor immediately takes a step back, moving his hands away from Hank and locking them over to his sides, his fingers nervously grabbing his shirt. "Oh, God. I'm sorry Hank. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable", he immediately apologizes. Hank isn't looking at him, his eyes are drawn to the floor once again. "Did I move too fast?"

"No, it's ... It's fine. I was a bit too eager, too", Hank mutters out quietly, his hand moving to scratch the back of his neck.

There's something in his eyes. Something that tells Connor the man feels guilty, or ashamed. Connor swallows nervously and calls out for Hank. But the man doesn't answer for a while. He seems to be in deep thought, trying to catch air into his lungs, trying to think the situation through.

"Connor", he finally says. Connor's hair stands up in his whole body, his fingers wrapping tighter around the hem of his shirt, almost ripping the fabric apart.

"Are you sure you like someone like me?"

 

 

 

Connor completely freezes from those words. He couldn't understand why Hank would ask something like that. "Isn't it obvious?" he huffs out, squinting his eyes at the older man who just shakes his head a little and once again looks down at the floor. _Ah._  Now Connor understood what might be the problem. Hank didn't believe someone could like him that way. Now Connor just needed to find a reason for those feelings.

"After everything that has happened between us ... after I just kissed you ... you question my feelings towards you?" Connor asks, feeling just a little offended. "Hank, I'm not mendacious."

Hank Anderson doesn't answer for a long moment. When the silence grows far too thick, Anderson finally gives up, rubs his forehead and sighs loudly. "It's just ... What happened at the gallery, it ... made me think", the man muttered out quietly.

Connor remembers what had happened in the gallery. He knows Hank is talking about the things his old friend had said to him. Connor couldn't understand why anyone would allow such a ruthless person push them down, but he had come to understand that not everyone dealt with enemies like he did. Connor was able to keep his calm and stand up for himself, while Hank Anderson's way of dealing with others was unpractical and disheveled. And it seemed like Gavin Reed's words had really pierced deep into his skin. 

"Are you thinking about what Gavin Reed said at the gallery?" Connor asks quietly, his hands clenching tighter onto his shirt. 

Hank looks up at him silently, before he answers.

"I'm thinking about what everyone has said."

 

 

Connor wants to tell Hank that he shouldn't listen to people who only want to push him down. He wants Hank to know that he is more than he thinks, that he is perfect the way he is. Even with his inner demons that Connor did not know much about. Connor was just about to start making a list of good things in Hank, when the man opened his mouth again.

"Connor, I relapsed. I got ... extremely drunk last Friday", he said, a defeated look on his face. Connor immediately closed his mouth. "I started drinking again after six weeks of abstinence. Can you even imagine how much of a failure I feel like?"

Hank Anderson hides his face behind his hand and he lets out an exhausted sigh. Then, something similar to a sob escapes from his throat. Connor can feel his heart aching, but he doesn't know what to say. He feels completely lost, and for the first time he doesn't know what to say to him. Hank quickly wipes his eyes clean before he lifts his head again, his eyes looking somewhere to the side. "I just ... I'm still thinking about this."

"What is there to think? We both like each other", Connor stuttered. "And ... I don't care if you have ... problems with yourself. I'm eager to help you", he continues and moves a little closer, locking his hands together, his nails scraping against his fingers so roughly he almost broke the skin. Anderson sighs.

"I know. But I don't want to hurt you."

 

Hank was being far too obstinate right now, but Connor would fight all night to make him change his mind. Or at least make Hank think things over, instead of letting him dwell too deep into his shadowy thoughts that were pushing him down.

"Your heart is still intact", Hank mutters, his head once again falling down towards the floor, his eyes closing heavily. "I don't think I'm the right man who could hold it without scratching it."

Hank Anderson moves his hand over his thigh again, pretends to grab something before he crushes it, hand folding into a tight fist. Connor swallows as he moves closer again, and he puts his hand over his again, moving his thumb over the fisted hand, trying to open it. "I don't mind a few scars", Connor whispers quietly, knowing far too well it wasn't the best thing to say. But he was at a loss with his words, so he stuttered out anything he could think of right now. Hank shakes his head.

"No, Connor. I'm doing this for you. I don't wish to hurt you. I just ... need more time to think about this."

 

Hank Anderson pushes Connor's hand away, almost aggressively and Connor takes the hint, stepping away from the man. He bit down onto his lip and clenched his hands into tight fists, feeling indisposed and weak. Connor can feel his heart aching, his eyes getting already watery as he doesn't know how to really feel.

He understand Hank's reasons for feeling like this. He understands the man needed time to think about it. 

It still hurt.

Everything between them seemed to have become compromised. And Connor was not going to let everything fall into pieces. He would fix it, he knew he would. But right now, Hank looked like he wished to be alone. His gaze was avoiding Connor completely, and even if Connor felt like he was going to cry, he bit down onto his lip to keep himself calm. He wouldn't give up on Hank yet, but right now he could feel himself growing angry for some reason. And he knew he should leave calmly, before he would end up making things messier than they already were.

"Fine. I'll just leave you be", Connor said, his voice just a little gnarly, a tone it had never sang in. He hoped his anger was plausible enough, so Hank wouldn't see how sad he was really from the inside. Connor quickly turned on his heels and left the room, soon slamming through the door and running on the hallway towards the exit. His breathing was becoming frantic and loud, tears suddenly taking over his eyes and falling down, burning his cheeks. He didn't know why he was crying. Connor knew Hank just needed time to think.

But Connor was afraid he would be rejected at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to add blackout poetry in this story because I really love doing them myself. The poem Alice reads out is an actual poem I've made (translated, of course).


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Connor meet again, and as they try to finish their tour through The Eden Gallery, both of them realize they are having a difficult time keeping their hands away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for a lot of talking, but this time a little ... different kind of talking. This chapter is literally just dirty talking in a gallery, because I am apparently into that.
> 
> Also wanted to say that sorry if this chapter feels super messy, I wanted to finish it before school starts again and when I am uploading this, it's 6AM so I am very sleep deprived. It is what it is.

Connor was indecisive. He had no idea what he should do. He was sure he had never in his life felt this helpless.

He wanted to call Hank, or at least text him, but once again he had no idea what to even say to him. For days, Connor is just looking at the phone screen, deciding if he was brave enough to press a button and call him. For days, Connor typed out different kind of messages he never was brave enough to sent. He wrote messages out of anger, but then deleted them because he knew he was being childish. Connor tried to send messages where he simply asked Hank how he was feeling or what he was doing, but for days even doing that was too hard of a task.

Finally, when Tuesday came again and Connor knew he couldn't attend the art meeting, he types out a message for Hank.

 

 

_Connor  --  17:51 PM_

_Hey, I won't come to the art meeting today, either. I think you know why._

_I hope you're feeling better._

 

There was no answer.

Then Saturday came, and because Connor noticed there was still no answer to his message, he suspected Hank still needed more time. The fear that Hank Anderson was trying to move on from him made Connor feel so anxious he couldn't focus at work or at school, but he still had hope. He always did. Just like Hank had said, he just needed time to think about this. He needed time to sort his thoughts out and get a hold of himself. Connor gave the man he loved as much time to heal as he needed.

Late at night, just when Connor was about to go to bed, a message pops up in his phone. He first doesn't react too strongly, as he expects it to be one of his friends. He had told his friends the whole shenanigan and they texted Connor every day, just to make sure he was alright. But even if he was tired as hell, he couldn't just ignore the message so he lazily picked up his phone, read it and suddenly sat up on his bed.

 

 

_Hank  --  23:37 PM_

_Come to the gallery tomorrow._

 

 

It's not really a request. It's an order, or his own form of begging. Connor just stares at the message, not quite sure what to say to it. He ends up giving no reply, leaving Hank on the edge as Connor falls asleep next to his phone.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Sunday comes. 

The gallery closes when the clock hits eight, and Connor is able to come in there just a little bit before seven. The moment he enters, he looks around a little nervously. He doesn't see Hank Anderson anywhere nearby. And since it was Sunday, there was no art meeting for tonight, so he suspected the man he was looking for wouldn't be in the basement. Connor walks over to the counter, checks himself in and ask advice from the lady behind the counter. Tracy, as her name tag read, smiled at Connor and advised him to take a tour around the gallery. Connor had insisted he had to find Hank Anderson, but the more he kept asking where the man could be, the more Tracy told him to enjoy the tour. Connor finally understands the hint. Hank has asked this assistant to tell Connor what to do when he would arrive. Eagerly awaiting to see what Hank had in store for him, Connor takes his gallery card back and starts the tour.

There aren't too many people around, since it was almost closing time. The first room Connor enters is almost completely empty, the few visitors already leaving for the next one. Connor looks around almost in small panic, trying to catch a glimpse of Hank who could be anywhere at the moment. But he doesn't see him anywhere. 

Connor has already seen these art works. He has visited this gallery multiple times, so he isn't quite interested to look through them again. Instead, he comes up with an idea. He sees a familiar bench with no back placed in front of one of the largest paintings the gallery had and Connor seats himself on top of it. He lays his bag next to him and pulls out his sketchbook and pens and opens an empty page. He looks up at the painting. It's a portrait of a young man with curly hair, laying on his side with a prurient look at the spectator, holding grapes in his hand. He is laid on a well decorated stool with a purple sheet laid over it. Behind him there are pillars and walls that were close to the roman architecture, and a few dancing figures can be seen swirling around in a circle.

It's not a simple nude painting of a man. This one has large horns on his head that spiral around strongly and a pair of floppy long ears peek under his brown curls. He has no hair on his body, expect below his navel where a trail of fur fell between his legs. His thighs were slowly growing hairier the lower your eyes traveled and instead of human legs, there was a pair of goat hooves that were relaxed over each other.

Connor turns his sketchbook sideways and starts sketching the faun the best he could. He first starts with the basic shapes, making sure he had the proportions correct before he started adding the details. Connor captures the face, creating it first with gentle strokes of his pen against the paper, before pressing down a little harder to get the small details out.

He isn't sure how long he had been drawing, but when Connor had already drawn the faun and was now working more on the detailing, he can hear a pair of footsteps approaching. He doesn't look away from his paper, but instead continues drawing, his body hunched over like he didn't want to be seen. For a moment, Connor is sure it's just someone who is going to walk past him. But he can hear the footsteps stop for a moment, quite near him. Connor doesn't dare to look. Seconds pass, before the footsteps continue, circling around his seat before someone sets more weight on the bench. A soft sigh escapes from the intruder, and Connor smiles so widely his cheeks hurt.

He had been longing for Hank for so, so long, that he could barely keep himself together when he was next to him again.

 

 

"Satyrs are interesting mythological creatures. Weirdly beautiful, despite their hairy legs", Hank quietly comments, resting his locked hands over his knees, his body leaning forward. Connor turns his head towards the man and with a smile on his face, he looks up and down at Hank Anderson who looked the same as always. Hair still tied behind, brown suit that he kept neatly clean, those round glasses that fit his face so well and of course, a shirt with a crazed pattern. Connor shakes his head at him, even if Anderson was looking up at the large painting that was almost as realistic as a photograph.

"This is a faun", Connor tells him. "Satyrs usually have human legs and they are a bit uglier."

Hank turns his head towards him and gives him that chipper grin that was always so full of optimism and hope for the future. Connor had missed that smile, that crooked mouth that gave butterflies in his stomach. "Well, everyone gets them mixed up a bit", Hank Anderson insisted, shrugging. "But what is the real difference between them, the way they look or the way their story is told?"

Connor felt like that was an invitation for him to start teaching Hank, once again. Connor quite enjoyed it, just knowing random facts about things so he could tell them to Hank who was always eager to listen and learn something more. And Anderson was giving him that look that just asked for some frolic, and how could Connor refuse those puppy eyes? "Fauns are usually used as a symbol for fertility. They are usually presented as carefree creatures who enjoy music, dancing and sexual activities", Connor started. If he was honest, he didn't know much about magical creatures you often saw in story books or in fantasy movies. But because of school, Connor had memorized even the smallest details his teacher had said when they had been going through different art movements. And they had seen quite many paintings with some kind of non-human creatures on them. 

"And satyrs are usually shown as a class of lustful, drunken woodland gods", Connor memorized, using the exact words his teacher had used. Hank nods, his fingers playing with each other and his mouth humming a little against his closed lips as to show he was interested to hear more. "Satyrs enjoy their wine and women a lot, and ... they are negatively characterized. They also become enamored by beauty and begin to worship anything as if they are a deity", Connor spat out everything he could remember before he finally stops and looks at Hank. The man looked pleased with the boy's answer, as he laughed a little and looked back up at the ferocious painting.

"Drunken and lustful, huh. Sounds familiar", Hank comments quietly. Connor lifts an eyebrow at him.

"You mean yourself?"

"Most likely."

 

 

Connor lets out an amused laughter and turns his head back to his journal, continuing to finish his sketch of the faun, capturing the shadows the best he could. A long quiet moment passes between them before Hank is already inching a little closer, his body leaning towards Connor as he looks at his work. Hank compliments him, as he always did, but this time he leaves his words at that instead of trying to guide Connor to make it better. After giving a soft 'thank you' back to the gallery assistant, Hank simply nods and looks up at the large painting again.

"It's almost as good as Caravaggio's", Anderson comments as his eyes travel across the work, scanning on each little detail he could find. Connor turns his head towards him. "Caravaggio?"

Hank Anderson looks back at the younger man with a victorious expression. "Finally it's my turn to educate you", the man laughed and with excitement he slammed his hand a few times against his knee. "Caravaggio was a painter specialized in baroque paintings, that are mostly known for their deep colors, intense lights and dark shadowing. And the great drama, of course", he explains with a clear confident voice that echoes around the gallery. Hank spoke his words out like a professor, eager to teach his class and let them know everything he knew. Connor could not help but admire his enthusiasm. It's like their little break had brought the man completely back to life, complete prosperity taking over his existence.

"Caravaggio was Italian, and he made dramatic and extremely large paintings about saints and other religious subjects", Hank tells as he moves a little closer to Connor once again. He points at the work and moves his hand against the air, over the nude form of the faun, Connor's eyes carefully following the movement of his fingers. "The way he painted muscles and created chiaroscuro is one way to recognize his work from others. Whoever painted this has been eager to be as talented as Caravaggio himself."

"Chiaroscuro", Connor repeats the word out, quite fascinated how it formed out of his mouth and rang in his ears. A beautiful word, in his opinion.

"From light to shadow", Hank says, compacting the meaning of the word as short as possible. His hand points at the dark shadow under the faun's arm and he points out how the dark shadow slowly turns into a lighter shade, until it mixes together with the skin color. A perfect change from darkness to light, no clear line on where the light started or stopped.

"From light to shadow", Connor repeats the words once again. He bites down onto his lip and realizes he no longer can hold back his feelings. Connor has to be a little cocky. "Like your feelings towards me."

Hank Anderson squints his eyes at the younger man. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You first seem eager to be close to me, but then you pull away like you're afraid", Connor spits back at him, unintentionally being that rude. Hank first just stared at him before he turned his eyes down at the floor. He scuffed the bottom of his shoe against the floor, a guilty look on his face. Connor bit heavily onto his lip, feeling like a complete asshole for being so rough on Hank. He understood Hank had his troubles and that he needed time. And Connor didn't want the situation to grow too dire, so he tried to find something to say, something that wasn't so nefarious. 

"Are you afraid of being with me, because you're older than me?" Connor asked as he almost coldly turned his eyes back to his sketchbook and continued drawing, his dexterity with drawing growing better after every drawn line. He was quite proud of his sketch, if he dared to say so himself. Connor had learned a lot. As he draws, Anderson lifts his head up and looks at Connor with his mouth gaping slightly open.

"Hey, my or even your age isn't the problem here", he insisted. "It's just a little concerning how you would choose someone like me out of all people."

There it was again. Hank Anderson and his famous insecurities. It was heartbreaking to hear that, knowing that Hank believed he wasn't good enough to be loved. Connor stopped drawing and looked at Hank, admiring his beauty, so confused on how the man himself couldn't see the greatness and beauty he had grown to be. "Why wouldn't I choose you?" the young man asked, squinting his eyes a little. Hank Anderson shrugs strongly, fiddling with his fingers.

"I don't know. I'm old -"

"You just said the age isn't the problem", Connor pointed out.

Hank nervously chuckled, realizing his mistake.  "Ah, right. Well, to others it might be", Hank muttered and rubbed the back of his neck a little. Connor pouts his lip a little.

"But that shouldn't matter."

 

The grizzled man swallows heavily and his head falls back down onto the floor, his posture hunched forward. "I know", Hank Anderson said with a deep sigh. "Anyway, I'm also ... not that handsome. And I have troubles with myself."

"But you are handsome. I find you very attractive", Connor comforted him, daring to lift his hand up and lay it on top of Hank's shoulder. He rubs him a little, just the grip he had on Hank full of fervor, fingers pressing down hard like he was giving the man a massage. Hank chuckled, a wide smile appearing over his face from the compliment. "You have a preference for older men?" he asked and lifted his head up to look at the younger man. Connor laughed at the question and shyly looked away from him.

"I have a preference for you."

Connor had been a little too impulsive when he had said those words, not even realizing they had come out of his mouth. But apparently he had said the right thing, as Hank giggled the flustered kind of laughter, before looking away. Connor let his hand trail down from Hank's shoulder, traveling down the sleeve of his jacket until he reached his hand. Hank answered without hesitation - he offered his hand to him and entwined their fingers together, placing their locked fingers between their bodies. They gave each other a gentle smile before looking back at the artwork in front of them. For a few minutes, there was just complete silence between them, only the sound of the few people still walking around the gallery having discussions about the art works filling in as background music. 

Connor looked at the man he had fallen in love with, and even if he was afraid to be turned down, nothing would keep him from hiding his true feelings anymore. He knew Hank wasn't the kind of man who would tamper with his feelings. Connor had his full trust on him, and if Hank had decided to not engage into a relationship with him, then Connor would be ready to just stay as friends. But before that would even be a possibility, Connor had to let the man know about his feelings. "Hank, I also like you as a person. It's always so easy to talk to you, and I really enjoy our time together", Connor finally confessed to him and squeezed his hand tighter.

Anderson had a glacial look in his eyes when he turned his head towards him. But then the ice had quickly melted away and Hank relaxed. His cheeks turned redder, just a little bit and his lips curved higher, turning his cheeks plump and round. He didn't say anything, so Connor thought Hank didn't quite yet believe him. Connor continued: "You also make me feel ... very weird. My heart is always pounding, my legs feel like jello when you touch me, and every time you talk, I just -"

"Alright, I got the message", Hank said, like he couldn't bear to hear any more or else he wouldn't be able to hold himself together. When Hank has collected himself back together, he squeezes a little harder on Connor's hand. "I feel the same way."

 

 

Hank stays quiet for a moment and looks at Connor, their eyes making intense contact immediately. Hank looks like he wants to desperately lean in for a kiss, but something seems to be stopping him. A confession, perhaps. Or a promise. Connor waits patiently when Hank turns his eyes back to the floor and licks his dry lips, trying to get the words out. 

"I have been thinking. And ... I've decided to not let others choose for me. I wish to make my own decisions without letting others stop me", Anderson finally said, with no fear nor hesitation in his voice. A low breath escapes from his body. "Which also means that I won't be stopping myself from ... doing something I want to do."

Connor raises an eyebrow. "And?"

"And ... I've decided to no longer push people away", Hank said. He holds onto Connor's hand tighter, both of their hands going a little sweaty, but neither of them cared.

"That's exactly what I wanted you to say. To me, and to yourself", Connor says, smiling so brightly that it hurt his cheeks a little. He sniffed loudly, for some reason feeling a little emotional. He did everything to keep any tears from falling, either biting down onto the inside of his cheek or just grabbing tighter onto Hank's hand. It was a bit silly to be emotional about something like this. But Connor couldn't help the way he was feeling. He was just so ... happy. "I'm proud of you", he said. He could see Hank smile brightly again, but then more silence fell between them. Only for a moment, though.

"Connor", Hank called for him, turning his eyes towards him, those ocean blue orbs peering into deep into Connor's soul.

"Are you sure you want to be with me? No matter what?"

Connor swallowed strongly, but did not hesitate to answer. "Hank, I ... I love you as you are. Your personal problems aren't going to scare me away. I'll be there to help you, no matter what."

Anderson stares at him for a moment, before he slowly inches a little closer. "That's exactly what I needed to hear", he says quietly before Hank leans in for a kiss. Connor eagerly leans forward too, closing his eyes as their lips touched. It's a perfect mix of gentleness, passion and hunger, something they both had been yearning for badly since the last time they had kissed. Connor's other hand moves up to hold Hank's cheek, the man's beard tickling his skin a little. He moves his lips slowly, smiling into the kiss and Hank happily answers, following his movement like it was a map. 

They silently kiss each other, keeping it as civil as they could, but Connor could just feel how hungry Hank truly was for him. It made his heart flutter. All of Hank's doubts seemed to fade away when he kissed Connor and the man drove a little deeper, groaning quietly into the kiss.

They only stop when they can hear footsteps coming towards them. Still holding hands, they break from the kiss and look at the painting in front of them again as they wait for the guests to look around and leave. Several painful minutes pass, but when the room is finally empty again, Connor is already cupping Hank's face again and pulling him into another kiss. He softly moans against it, and Hank's other hand finds its way on top of Connor's skinny thigh, grabbing onto it softly. The moment Connor is trying to enter his tongue into the kiss, Hank pulls away.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk ... Calm yourself, Connor. I'm afraid that kind of behavior is not appropriate in this gallery", Hank said to him like a security guard, leaning in to give the final kiss on his lips before he pulled away and stood up. 

"The gallery will close in an hour. Would you like to take a tour with me, before I show you my office?" he gives an offer that he knew Connor couldn't refuse. Hank looks at him with those eyes that just tell the younger man that he wasn't talking about a normal, friendly visit to his office. It was something more. There was that lustful shimmering in his eyes, something that told Connor they were going to finally have each other. Nervously, Connor nods and stands up too, packing up his sketchbook and moving the handle of his back over his shoulder. 

Hank seemed more assertive than before, like he has managed to elude his insecurities. His hand grabbed his again and he started pulling Connor with him, starting the normal route every visitor took in this gallery. Connor was eager to walk through the gallery Hank Anderson revered so much. But he was more eager to end it fast and go into his office where he could finally be held by the older man.

 

 

 

 

They are sauntering through the gallery extremely slowly, marveling at every work they came across, staying still for at least ten seconds before moving on to the next one. Hank holds onto his hand tightly as they walk through the gallery silently, admiring the works they both had seen already far too many times. They stop in front of a small painting of glacial mountains and Hank takes a deep breath before he turns to Connor.

"How long have you liked me?" he asked with a curious look. Connor bites into his lip a little.

"Since the first time I laid my eyes on you", he confesses and looks back at Hank, who happily chuckles at his comment. "At Carl Manfred's opening night?" Hank asks. That was at least where he had seen Connor for the first time, and he had immediately started falling for him like a teenager having a crush. He had loved the way Connor just looked like from the very first second, admiring every aspect and little detail of the young man's whole body. Hank had hoped he would have made a move on him sooner, but right now he was glad to finally be more than friends with Connor. 

To his surprise, Connor is shaking his head. "No, before that. I visited this gallery once and I just saw you, helping other visitors ... And you looked so charming and gentle. I fell for you the moment I saw you", Connor tells him, memorizing the moment he had suddenly grown an unwitting attraction towards Hank Anderson. The grizzled man smiles.

"I wish I had seen you that day too", Hank said, gratified by Connor's confession. "Then, I could have come talk to you sooner."

 

 

They continue their way through the gallery, haphazardly choosing when they would stop and look at a certain work, chatting about it for a short moment before quickly continuing their way. Both of them were far too eager to get out of there, just so they could be together and hold each other close. It was quite a thrilling experience to walk through the gallery, knowing that they would end up together at the end. Holding back your own instincts was the real battle.

The two of them walk past a small statue of a waif child that was covered in photos of deranged people; angry faces shouting, middle fingers showing up from the crows, groups of people protesting with hateful manners. The piece was just full of hate and despair, but there was one photo that was flying in the air, something the statue tried to reach for. When you looked closer, it was a photo of two people kissing, embracing each other. Hank leans in close to see that picture better and as he does so, Connor hungrily watches how his body bends down, trying to get a good look at the man's bottom, but only after a few seconds of staring at his ass, Anderson is already straightening himself up and turning to look at Connor.

"Hm, I have a ... very strong need to hold you in my arms right now", Hank says to him quietly, his hand moving up from Connor's ass to his back like a ghostly touch, so gentle that you could barely feel it. Hank stops his hand on the shoulder and he holds onto him so tightly that it could even leave bruises. His hand knead Connor's shoulder, warmth emanating right into Connor as he leaned against that hand, wanting more of it.

"O-oh", is the only thing that comes out of Connor's throat.

"Shy?" Hank teases him, raising his brows in a cocky way. "Do you need some persuasion?" Anderson ask as his grip on him tightens a little, his alluring voice echoing in Connor's mind for a moment before he was able to answer. "No, not really", he assures the older man. Connor did not need any persuasion to agree on some hugging, hand holding, or anything that included physical contact.

"Well, I'm gonna give you some anyway", Hank said quietly. 

Hank Anderson suddenly leans closer to Connor and almost presses his lips against his ear lobe, Hank's hot breathing making shivers run down Connor's body. Connor freezes completely, his heart skipping a beat as Hank silently groans right into his ear, his fingers grabbing onto him tighter. "Do you know how long I've wanted to hold you in my arms?" Hank breathed against his ear. Connor could have melted right there, if he hadn't realized they were still in public, right in the middle of a gallery. At least the gallery was closing soon, and not too many people were there anymore, but the risk to be seen and heard was still high.

"Do you know how long I've been fighting back my feelings because I thought you could never be mine? That I didn't deserve something as good as you?" Hank whispered into his ear, his hand traveling down from Connor's shoulder to his upper back, rubbing him now a little more gently. Connor swallowed nervously, slightly turning his head towards the older man.

"As long as you have known me?" Connor guessed with slightly frantic voice, his hands unable to stay still, tapping against the side of his thighs. Hank happily hums against his ear.

"Yes. Very long. Some times, I couldn't hold myself back. Being close to you always made my heart jump", he confesses and suddenly, Anderson moves away and acts like nothing had happened at all. He slides his hand down Connor's back as he continues his way, not even looking over his shoulder to check if the younger man was coming after him. Connor's composure was already about to break, and he was struggling to keep himself calm. He took a deep breath, clenched his hands into tight fists before he walked over to Hank, continuing their way across the gallery.

 

 

 

 

"Do you remember that night when we were drawing each other and I let you touch my face?" Hank asks after they had been walking silently for only five minutes. Connor had been eagerly inspecting a painting of a country view until Hank's sudden comment had made him jump. He was able to give the gallery assistant a quick nod before they continued their way to the next painting.

"I tried to kiss you then", Hank reminded. Connor, of course, remembered every detail of that night. He remembered how they drew each other and how Hank had grabbed Connor by the wrists and brought his hands to touch the old man's face. Connor's eyes had been closed the whole time, but he had felt Hank's breath against his face, clearly a sign of him leaning in for a kiss. And what had Connor done? He had quickly ran away, because he had grown a little too excited in his pants.

Hank tentatively moves his hand to Connor's waist and pulls him closer, the movement taking him by surprise. But Connor doesn't break away from it, and just leans closer to the man as they continue sauntering around the room. "I know. I think I wasn't ready to kiss then. Just like you weren't ready after our date", Connor says to him and gives Anderson a comforting smile. The man doesn't answer, only looks around like he didn't want anyone to come and disturb them.

"Hmh. Remember when I offered you to come into my workshop, but you had to leave?" Hank Anderson asks. Connor gives him a positive answer. He remembered that far too well. It had been awkward, when Hank was just trying to be nice but Connor had to rudely leave him, doing his best to hide his raging erection. 

Hank looks around again before he suddenly stops walking. He pulls Connor closer, the shorter man completely crushed against his soft body as Hank leans down, lowering his voice again.

 

 

"If you would have accepted my request and come in, I would have been more than happy to suck your cock."

 

 

Completely dazed by those words, Connor looses his balance a little and stumbles against Hank's body, so glad the man was there to support him. A heavy breath escaped from his lips as Hank helped Connor to get his balance back. He couldn't even look at the older man. Saying such vulgar things, right here in public, to him ... It made Connor's head all mushy. Hank just smirked at him, pulling Connor closer into his embrace.

"Yes. I noticed you were hard. Got me quite excited, if I'm honest", the man muttered quietly, moving his other hand to Connor's chin, lifting the young man's head up. Connor looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, so completely lost by just hearing Hank Anderson speak that dirty. Connor couldn't help it - Anderson's voice was deep and low, and when he whispered something like that right into his ear, it made Connor's legs loose their sense. Hank loved the sight in front of him, but he did his best to keep his cool and not do anything more dangerous. Yet. "You growing hard by simply touching my face ... God, I wanted to just take you right then and make you mine", he hissed gently through his teeth, and just like that, Connor was completely leaning against his body, pressing every inch of him against Hank's plump form, completely trusting Hank to keep him on his feet.

Hank looked around, and when he didn't see anyone, he swiped his thumb over Connor's bottom lip. The young man's first reaction was to open his mouth a little and keep looking up right into his eyes. "What did you do about it?" Hank asked quietly, other hand gripping tightly onto Connor's slim waist.

Connor swallowed heavily, blinking multiple times before he answered. "I went to the nearest bathroom and ... touched myself."

Connor felt so humiliated for being made to confess that. But it just made everything so much more thrilling. And the lustful look Hank gave back to him just made all of his fears disappear, making the young man grab onto Hank's sides, touching and feeling the fat underneath the clothing. So soft. "Mm, just the thought of you touching yourself because of me makes me wanna fuck you, right here and now", Hank said to him, leaning so close to his face that Connor kept trying to reach in for a kiss, his lips brushing softly against Hank's mouth. But he always pulled away. A thirst for sexual gratification started rising deep in Connor's cut and he was barely able to hold himself back.

"Why don't you?" he almost pleaded, hands grabbing tighter onto Hank's shirt, his feet finding their support again as he pressed closer against the man.

"Oh, Connor. So eager", Hank said flirtatiously. "Just wait. I'll fuck the shit out of you soon."

Connor lost his balance just from those words and he pressed his forehead against Hank's chest, catching air loudly into his lungs. Anderson just chuckled at him, moving his hand to brush Connor's perfectly curled brown hair, his lips pressing against his scalp as to comfort. "Don't grow hard now. There is still 27 minutes until closing time", the older man whispered to him before he held onto tightly Connor for a few seconds, before finally breaking away from their embrace. His tone of voice completely immobilized Connor. He could barely move or function properly, Hank's voice echoing in his head, the air between them so dirty and obscene that they were having a hard time hiding it. But as Hank locked their hands together and started pulling him towards the next art work, all he could do was to just follow him and try to calm himself down.

He could have never guessed that Hank Anderson was this much of a tease.

 

 

 

 

They enter another room, then another one. When they enter a room that was made for pieces that were more modern art, they see a small little closet in the middle of the room that had been just put there. As they stepped inside and closed the curtain, it was completely dark inside, a beautiful shot of the stellar system surrounding their vision. Connor couldn't help but giggle. The damn little shed had been build so small that only one person could step in and be part of the universe for a while, but since they both had went inside, their bodies were pressed so closely against each other. It was quite hot, and a little dangerous, since anyone could just walk in and find them. It was going to be so hard for Connor to hold himself back and not fall down onto his knees and suck Hank off.

Connor would have enjoyed the art work, if he had been alone. It was a nice moment of calm from the noise of the outside world and from all the tourists that were still walking around the gallery. Ominous humming was playing in the background and the hidden light made different kind of constellations move around them. They even shined onto their skin, and as Connor looked at Hank he could see stars on his face, and it was the most beautiful view he had ever seen.

If he had been alone, he would have just closed his eyes and experienced the moment, just feel and listen. But he wasn't alone.

Connor wrapped his arms around Hank and crashed their lips hungrily together and luckily, Hank wasn't pushing him a way this time. He instead pushed Connor gently against the weakly build wooden wall and groaned against the kiss. Hank's large hands found their way to his hips, rubbing up and down hungrily, pulling up Connor's shirt just a little. Connor moved his lips over his, hands wrapped behind his head, playing with his ponytail a little until it accidentally went a little loose. Connor so badly wanted him, and he couldn't find any way to repress his lustful thoughts. Luckily Hank wasn't as lost in his feelings as he was, and he was the first one to put a stop to their actions before anything dirty happened. It always feel like treachery when Hank pulled away from their embrace, Connor letting out a disappointed whine when he moved away.

"I found it extremely hot that you were touching yourself, here, in this gallery, hiding inside a shitty bathroom", Anderson breathed against his skin, his hands moving higher, under Connor's jean jacket that had seen better days. "I can only imagine what you were thinking about then."

Connor rubbed his face against Hank's neck, letting his mouth linger against his skin, the start of his beard under his jaw tickling his nose. "I was thinking about you", Connor whispered, almost completely forgetting they were inside an art installation with only thin walls muffling their voices and only a thin piece of fabric hiding them from the world. He didn't care if they would get caught. Hank rubbed his chin against the top of his head, hands traveling further under Connor's jacket. 

"I got you that worked up?" Hank purred, rubbing his hands all over Connor's backside, making the young man lean harder against his body. Connor nodded strongly, heavily breathing against Hank's neck.

"I've been so enamored by you, that I can barely stay still when I'm around you", Connor breathed out. Hank's eyes were almost glued to him, making Connor feel like he was under strict scrutiny. And he loved it. Connor pressed himself tightly against Hank's body, moving his hands down to his chest over to his round stomach. "I've been wanting you to touch me", Connor whispered out, lifting his head up so he could look back at Hank.

"Where?" Hank asked, gently pressing his nails against Connor's backside, so badly wanting to touch the bare skin under his shirt.

"Everywhere."

Hank smacks their lips together, humming against his mouth as his hands move back down to Connor's waist, playing with the rim of his grey t-shirt, before he moves his hands under the fabric and simply presses his palms against Connor's skin. Connor already lets out a low moan against the kiss, and even if he hates it, Hank pulls away. "Tsk tsk tsk. I can't touch you if you get too excited about it. Don't wanna get caught, after all", Anderson snickered at him. Connor pouted his lips and made his eyes as big as possible, aiming for the famous puppy look he did when he didn't get what he want.

"God, don't make that face", Hank laughs, tickling the man's skin a little with his fingers before he pulled his hands away. "Let's get out, before I won't be able to hold myself back."

Connor loved the idea of fucking inside this little box, knowing that people could be listening them, stars painting pictures on their bodies, the space around them so limited and tight. But having sex inside this installation wouldn't be respectful for the artist, so they leave, hands entwined together.

 

 

 

They are starting to get near the end of their little tour when Roman sculptures start surrounding them. It was Hank's favorite room out of all the rooms in the whole gallery, even better than his own workplace. The statues were all well build, every detail done precisely, no mistakes being allowed to be seen. Surprisingly, they stopped more than just a few times to look at the statues and read the information about them, like they were actually eager to learn about them, instead of trying to get out as fast as possible so they could hold onto each other. Connor learned that most statues were originally brightly colored, but the pigment had been lost over the centuries so all that was left was the raw stone surfaces as white as snow. He had a hard time imagining any of the statues looking as good as they did now with actual color on them. In Connor's opinion, the sculptures were simple but more beautiful when they were white.

But not like Connor cared about the color of the statue. He cared more about Hank and the colors he wore. Connor had the hardest time to just continue the tour and wait until the museum closed just so he could hold Hank again. But clearly this was all a game to him. Hank Anderson always gave him that cocky look and kept his hands away, refusing to touch Connor when he was so eagerly begging for more contact. It was atrocious. But Connor knew that he would be rewarded at the end.

They end up staring at a statue of an angel a little longer than planned. Connor wasn't too focused on the statue of a female with no limbs, a pair of wings on her back and a simple clothing covering her nude body poorly. He was more intrigued by the man next to him who kept their hands locked together no matter what. Hank was looking at the statue, his observant eyes taking in every detail that had been carved on stone, completely ignoring Connor, making the younger man just linger on the edge. The detailing of the statue was full of precision, the whole work so realistic that it looked like a person frozen in the moment. 

"She looks quite innocent. Like she is a pure being", Anderson comments quietly, talking about the statue like it was an actual living human. Connor didn't mind that Anderson actually wanted to talk about art now. No matter the topic, Hank's voice would still turn him on. "And the sculpture is build with such care, the goal clearly made to be as enchanting as possible ... it's like the statue wants you to desire it."

Hank let's go of Connor's hand and gently traces it up the man's arm, over his shoulder to the nape of his neck, where he pressed his finger down under his hairline and created a few soft circles. "It reminds me of you a little", Hank finally ends his monologue and gives Connor a wink. How cheesy. Connor loved it. He just shakes his head at him and giggles before they both return to look at the statue, completely motionless.

"Do you believe in angels?" Anderson asked, his finger still drawing a circle on the back of Connor's neck.

"I neither have faith nor disbelief in angels, or God for the matter", Connor answered truthfully. Hank hummed, like he agreed with his views. "You're agnostic", he commented and stops his finger. Hank's hand travels down to Connor's backside and he presses his fingers down hard, trying to feel his shoulder blades through his jacket. Connor gulps loudly as his muscles stiffen, his body automatically writhing under the rough massage, working as a clear hint to Hank that he was sensitive to such hard treatment. 

"The scapula is what's left of your wings", Anderson quietly mutters out, his grating voice echoing in the silent room. It was getting quieter and quieter in the gallery, the closing time so close yet so far. Connor peeks a little over his shoulder and watches how Hank rubs his thumb over his shoulder blade. "Or that's what some people believe."

"I read somewhere that angels are virgins", Connor commented, leaning against Hank's hand a little.

"Well, they are messengers. They do not have the ability to have sex", Hank said. Connor wondered how or where the man knew that. Maybe both of them were a bit withdrawn and introspective before they had met each other, just too much alone time in the past making them both learn more about the subjects they were interested in. Connor liked that they were so similar, able to tell random facts to each other and carry on the conversation for hours.

Hank Anderson turned his gaze away from Connor to look around. Once again, when he was sure no one could listen in, Hank leaned down close so he could whisper into his ear.

 

"Are you a virgin, Connor?" 

 

Such a vulgar question to ask. But like a subservient servant, Connor did not waste any time answering. He quietly nods, his hands playing roughly with the hem of his shirt. Hank heaves quietly, the other end of his mouth curving higher. "You're pristine", he comments and rubs Connor's back a little more, pressing his thumb down harder. His mouth still lingers near Connor's ear as he licks his lips and swallows. Connor can hear and feel it all and he closes his eyes, focusing more on his other senses as Hank let out a hot breath against his ear. "Do you want me to be your first?"

Hank lets his hand travel down to his lower back and he holds it there, his fingers kneading against him gently. Connor was deriving so much pleasure from his touch that his knees were clacking against each other. He bit down onto his lip and nodded, the movement of his head barely visible.

"Are you willing to let me unravel you completely?" Anderson asked, his voice growing completely lustful. Connor gives him another nod. Hank slides his hand more to the side so he can grab down onto his hip, not too pleased with Connor's answer. "I want you to say it, Connor."

"Yes", he breaths out, keeping his eyes closed. Hank smiles and he buries his nose into Connor's curly hair and sniffs him. Connor always smelled so fresh like he had just showered or sprayed something into his hair. Of course, the scent wasn't so strong that it would completely run over his own natural aroma. Hank Anderson smelled again and savored that scent he knew that belonged to Connor, that sweet perfume that was naturally just him. He loved it.

"How badly do you want me?" Anderson asked. Connor's cheeks flushed red and he slowly fluttered his eyes open, gazing at the statue in front of them.

"Exceedingly bad. I want you with all of my heart", he confessed. Hank almost purred into his hair and when he moved away just by an inch, Connor was turning towards him, moving to stand in front of Hank and pressing his face against his neck again. He presses a kiss against his Adam's apple, hands trailing up to Hank's shoulders and wrapping behind his neck. But to his torment, Hank grabbed Connor by the wrists and lowered his hands back down, shushing him quietly.

"There is still a few minutes left. Can you hold on a little longer?"

"For you, I'd do anything", Connor promised, his tongue wiping over his bottom lip. With a disappointed face, Connor surrendered and let his hands fall back down to his sides as he took a deep breath. He could wait. Just a little longer. 

Hank chuckles softly as he moves his large hand to Connor's cheek and rubs his finger against the soft cheek bone, and Connor immediately leaned against it, rubbing himself against his palm. "I love it when you are this eager for me. I can't wait to make you mine", the more experienced man said to him in a quiet voice. Connor closes his eyes and for a short moment they stay like that, before Hank is prodding them back to the real world and starts guiding Connor through the last rooms.

 

 

 

 

"Four minutes before closing time."

 

It's the last room they are in and for some reason, Hank is insisting they finish the tour before running off to his office. No matter how much Connor was grabbing him by the arm or trying to come closer, Hank was always able to push him away like it meant nothing. It was clearly a game to see how long Connor would last without any heated physical contact. And even if Connor was always calm and resourceful, and with always the right solution for everything, he was now breaking down completely, unable to keep his courteous act on. Hank seemed to have figured out how to mess with him, and it was quite clear he was enjoying it as long as he could.

When Hank finally stops and starts inspecting one particular painting that had been created thousands of years ago, Connor almost jumps in front of him and presses himself close. His hand start touching Hank all over, moving over to the squashy pudge of his stomach, over to his sides and the rolls on his back. Hank immediately grabs Connor by the arms but this time Connor fights back, so tired of all the teasing. "Hold yourself together, Connor. You'll have me soon", Anderson promises, but Connor wants him so badly that he is just barely able to listen. Hank looks around nervously, before lowering his voice. "Besides, people are around."

Even if it was just about closing time, some guests were only now about to leave. There was also another gallery assistant soon walking past them, her high heels clicking against the floor in a quick strong rhythm. When she had seen Hank Anderson, she had just smiled and walked past instead of telling them to pack things up, knowing far too well that her coworker would know when to leave.

"I want you. Now", Connor mumbled out, his hands traveling around Hank's back, over the little love handles he playfully grabbed onto, making Hank loose his breath for a moment. Connor rubbed his face against the man's chest, his cheeks tinged in soft pink as a low whine came out of him. Hank breathed out heavily and shook his head. This young man was going to be the death of him.

"Hm, maybe just a little", he finally surrendered and laid his strong hands on top of Connor's shoulders. He pushed Connor away just a little and the young man broke from the embrace, his eyes immediately opening and looking back up at the older man, full of excitation. Hank grabs Connor's chin and turns his head a little to the side, a soft gasp escaping past Connor's lips. Hank presses a soft kiss on the juncture of his neck and shoulder, then another one. Connor's eyes close when he kisses the spot harder and sucks in, blemishing Connor's skin with hunger, marking him his. Connor let his mouth gape open as just enjoyed the feeling that made it incredibly hard to stand.

"You make me feel so young again, Connor", Hank muttered quietly against his skin before he presses his lips against his neck again, this time a little closer to his ear. Every time Hank touched the younger man, Connor would rejuvenate him completely, something sparking up in his old body like never before. It made Hank groan a little against his skin. Connor lets out a moan only Hank could hear after the man had sucked on his skin a little harder. He completely melts and Connor's hands travel down to Hank's sides that were puffing out a bit, and then his right hand travels into the middle and falls down, all the way down below Hank's belt and over his -

Hank Anderson grabs Connor's hand and quickly pulls it away, his heartbeat suddenly elevated up to the roof. He looks around in panic and to their luck, no one had been around to witness what had just happened. Hank turned to look back at Connor, trying to hold back his laughter.

"Ah, ah, slow down. Just wait a little longer, we're almost finished with our tour", he insisted, still refusing to let go of Connor's wrist. But Connor wouldn't give up that easily. He pressed himself closer against his body, eyes pleading for more. Hank swallowed heavily, almost wanting to give in to those eyes. But he bit down onto his tongue and held himself back.

"I want your - no. I want _our_   first time to be perfect. I won't rush it, no matter how much you'll be begging for me", Hank Anderson whispered to him, brushing Connor's hair as to comfort him. Both of them were barely keeping it together now, but Connor was right at the edge, if not already over it. He suddenly rolled his hips carefully, his groin gently touching Hank's and Connor gave him the most lustful look the old man had ever seen in his long life.

"Please, I can't hold back any longer", Connor pleaded, rolling his hips again, releasing a sinful sound when the contact had been just a little stronger. He was giving those eyes to him again, that look that was just so desperate for any kind of touch. Connor moved both of his hands to the collars of Hank's jacket and he almost roughly pulled the man closer. Hank didn't protest against it this time, but just looked down at Connor, like he was asking him to beg for more. Connor presses his head against Hank's chest and rubs his face against it, whining quietly. Hank ties his arms around the younger man, his hands rubbing his backside and hair, trying to soothe him down.

Connor gasps for air.

 

"I wanna make love to you. I wanna be completely yours. Please, Hank."

 

Hank freezes completely and doesn't give any kind of reaction. He just holds onto Connor, listening how desperately the boy was breathing. He cursed.

And Hank had just said begging would not work on him.

 

"Fuck it. Come, now", Hank muttered, broke away from their embrace and grabbed Connor by the wrist. "I can't hold back anymore, either", the man confesses as they enter the lounge in quick steps, walking past the counter where Tracy said hello to them. They didn't say hello back, just circled around the table before almost running towards the door that would lead them to the lower level. To the level where nobody else but Hank went.

Hank slams the door open and pulls Connor in, starting to walk down the stairs, heading towards his own personal office in a quick rush.

Connor felt like he could barely breathe. It was finally happening. After all this time, after all those moments when he had wanted more, after all the doubts and fears ...

He and Hank Anderson would finally be together.

United.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to put the NSFW into a separate chapter, in case this would accidentally get too long. Prepare for some love making in the last chapter!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Hank finally embrace each other, as friends, lovers and even more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School has been keeping me busy and depression hit me like a bullet, but I'm glad this last chapter is finally out! I feel a little sad to leave this story, because I truly enjoyed writing this since I am very passionate about art. This is one of my best (and longest) works and I really didn't want to finish this yet, but I'm also excited to start something new! Thank you for reading it all the way to the end!

_"I wanna make love to you. I wanna be completely yours. Please, Hank."_

 

 

Connor was completely high from all the feelings that were going through him. His love towards Hank Anderson, the heat and excitement of the moment, that small fear that made his nerve system answer to any touch much more stronger than before. It all was already far too much, and he was barely able to handle it. 

What made it all better was knowing Hank felt the same towards him.

Hand in hand, the two of them were heading towards Hank's workplace, his room that he had been preparing for this moment, knowing that he would be ready to make Connor his. They move across the empty hallway, heels clacking against the floor like a drum beat, hands sweaty against each other. Connor suddenly pulls a little at his hand and Hank turns to look at him, only to see Connor move closer and lock their lips together. He grunts against his mouth and pushes Connor against the wall, pressing himself against his skinny body. Connor eagerly moans against the kiss and grinds his hips against Hank, his hands wrapping behind his neck. 

Hank pulls away from the kiss. He has been longing for Connor for far too long, but he would not be fucking him in this hallway. At least not for their first time. 

"Take it easy, just a few more steps and it will just be the two of us", Hank whispered to him before pressing his face against his neck, pressing gentle kisses against Connor's pale skin. The young man moans and writhes wildly, clutching onto Hank tighter.

"I want you so bad", Connor moaned, his chest heaving strongly. He was already so out of breath, body completely tense and a little shaky even. Hank loved the way he affected Connor, completely making him melt under his touch, no matter what kind of touching it was.

He was eager to see how much Connor could handle of him.

"Then follow me, instead of trying to make out in the fucking hallway", Anderson grunted into his ear. It made the younger man moan, buck his hips forward, then lastly chuckle. "You're hot when you curse", he whispered. Hank pulled away and entwined their hands back together before starting to guide Connor back on the route that would lead them into his workshop. 

 

 

Hank fiddles with the keys almost nervously, trying to fit the right one in as Connor rubs his backside, pressing his face against his shoulder until finally Hank twists the right key to the side. The hinges of the door grated loudly as the door opened and Connor stepped in first. He could barely believe the sight in front of him. The lights were extremely dim, leaving the whole room shadowy and obscure and the strong scent of flowers took over his nostrils, few vases of colorful flowers placed on the table, on the floor where no one walked and on any kind of flat surface there was. All the room needed was some rose petals on the bed and slow music playing in the background. Connor looked around with a giggly face before he turned to Hank.

"You're quite of a romantic", Connor said with a smile, taking off his shoulder bag and sliding it next to the couch that had a cuddly blanket over it and a few pillows at the other end. Anderson chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well, yes. I was just thinking about what happened last time, so ... that's why ... the flowers", Hank tried to explain. It was clear that sudden nervousness was hitting him, so Connor bravely walked over to him and placed his hands over his hips. "That's so sweet of you", Connor whispered, sliding his hands up, over the man's chest, under his jacket. He gently grabs Hank by the collars and pulls him slowly into a kiss, pressing their lips together ever so gently. Hank immediately relaxes into the kiss and moves his hands around Connor, pulling him closer. It's warm, far too gentle compared to the all the action they had going on in the middle of the gallery, but they both enjoyed the loving contact.

Both of them decide to slow down and take their time, kissing each other without trying to move anywhere. But Connor's mind was already analyzing all kinds of possibilities where this scene could lead to. All the dirty thoughts and ideas were weaving through his mind, and he went through them one by one. In the first one, he imagines that Hank fucks him against the wall, lifting his fragile body like it was as airy as a flower petal, and Connor would completely surrender to him. The second option is to go at the table, just push everything onto the floor and out of their way so Hank could fuck the living shit out of him.

Just thinking about all the possibilities gets Connor even more excited and he moans against the kiss, rubbing himself a little closer against the man. His hands slide over to the collar of his jacket and slowly Connor starts undressing him. Hank follows his movement and allows his jacket to be taken off. He slides it down his shoulders, before he tosses it on the direction of his chair, never letting go of Connor's lips. Hank then returns the favor, almost ripping off the young man's jean jacket and dropping it onto the floor. Hank starts kissing him with voracious appetite, his hands traveling under Connor's shirt, touching his speckled skin, admiring how soft he was.

 

With a careful step, Hank starts leading them towards the so-called bed, but to his surprise, Connor is turning them around and soon guiding Hank to sit down. Anderson takes a good seat, leaning against the back of his couch as Connor looms over him, straddling onto his lap, legs spread wide open. Hank immediately wraps his arms around him, pulling Connor's body close to him. His hands travel over his backside before he pulls up the hem of his grey shirt and starts lifting it up. Connor moves away quickly and pulls his shirt off in one swift move, dropping it on the floor.

Connor bites on his lower lip as he leans away so Hank can have a better look at his bare chest. He is completely hairless, at least compared to Hank who barely had any smooth spots left in his body. Connor's skin was patterned with a few moles, skin pale and clean, soft to the touch like it was made out of velvet. Connor was quite lean, clear hints of muscles on his arms and torso, his shoulders wide and waist narrow.

Perfectly build. Like a machine made to love. To be loved.

Hank leans back on his chair as he just watches, traveling his rough hands over his body, feeling every curve and bone, every muscle and vein that were protduring out. Connor smiles shyly before he trails his hands down Hank's body, over to his own belt. Connor flicks it open with a loud clack until Hank moves his hands in and opens the rest for him, almost ripping off the button and making the zipper get stuck. With a few giggles, Hank finally gets his pants open and Connor places his feet against the floor so he can pull his jeans down. He does it slowly, teasingly, a jovial grin on his face as he slips out of his pants and kicks them to the side. Connor finds himself giggling a little as he takes of his shoes and socks, before he moves to stand in front of Hank. His voice goes serious as he twists his fingers under the rim of his boxers. He takes a deep breath before Connor pulls them all the way down, stepping out of them.

It was an intoxicating sight. Connor was slim, a little pale, tall and handsome. As he stood in front of Hank, he could finally see the tiniest little details. The hint of his ribs protruding out when he inhaled strongly, few freckles forming constellations on his body. So picturesque that Hank immediately wanted to touch every single part of him, cherish him with kisses, mark him his. Connor straddled over to his lap again, still leaning away so Hank could see and feel his body. And Hank does. He immediately runs his hand up his thighs that looked a little fatter up close, making them travel over to his hips. Hank grabs Connor's bare ass, his fingers denting the flesh playfully. It feels soft, round, just how Hank liked it. His hands then run to Connor's lower back, where they trail to his sides and then to Connor's front. 

"You're so beautiful", Anderson murmurs, his hands falling back down and finally his eyes inspect Connor's cock more. It's quite skinny like the rest of him, or at least compared to Hank's own size. He wraps his fingers around it and gives a long stroke that makes Connor bite into his lip. Hank's palm and fingers fit perfectly around his shaft, and he gives another stroke. 

"Like the statue of David", Hank continues with a smile. He strokes back up, circles his thumb over the head before moving back down. He caresses his finger over the small trail of pubic hair that runs up to Connor's navel, barely visible to the eye but long enough to be felt.

Connor chuckles. "I bet you're beautiful, too", he says quietly as Connor brings his hands over to the first button of his shirt, opening it. He gives Anderson a look that asked for permission, and Hank gives him a nod. Connor starts opening his brightly colored shirt, moving slowly all the way down until he finally spread the shirt open and started pulling it down from Hank's shoulder. With a little shifting, Hank gets his shirt off and he relaxes back against the couch, looking up at Connor with a slightly nervous expression.

Hank's body was hairy, a detailed tattoo hidden under the fur on his chest. His stomach was a little round with a scar on the left side of it, paler than the rest of his skin. Connor moves his hands over to his stomach and teasingly grabs the subcutaneous fat. "You're so sexy", Connor says with small laughter, his hands traveling up and down his body, more focused on admiring the chubby parts of the man. Hank giggles like a teenager, turning his head away shyly, thumbs rubbing on Connor's hips. "Look who is talking. You're the hottest thing I have ever seen."

Without much warning Connor leans down and crashes their lips together, humming a little as he moved his lips over his. Hank is already wrapping his arms around him, ready to pull him closer but then Connor is already breaking away.

 

 

He gives Hank one sly look before he descents down his body, falling down on his knees in front of the couch, between Hank's legs. His cock was tenting under his pants, and warmth was emanating from the area between his thighs, begging for Connor to come closer. Connor gives kisses to his inner thighs, then over the large bulge before his hands flick his belt open. Soon, Hank is lifting his hips so Connor can pull his pants down, trailing hisses from his exposed thighs to his knees. He takes them off slowly, and even bothers to untie Hank's shoes and take those off, too, getting a nice compliment of 'being a true gentleman' from the gallery assistant.

Connor returns back between his legs when Hank Anderson is only left in his underwear. With a small nervous swallow, Connor pulls Hank's a little closer to the edge so he can bury his face between his legs. Hungrily Connor mouths against his clothed cock, inhaling his manly musk as he wraps his hands around Hank's thighs, keeping him still. Anderson softly whispers his name out, moving his hand to caress Connor's brown locks. He sucks hardly on Hank's erection and only pulls away when he has left a wet spot on the fabric. Silently, Connor removes his underwear, too, pulling them down Hank's legs and tossing them away.

Connor's mouth locks open as he looks at the large size of the other man, thick and averagely sized with a strong bush at the base of it. It's much larger than he had expected, and he swallows as he isn't sure if he could even take it. But he doesn't feel afraid, or doesn't hesitate. Connor first wraps his hand around the bulbous shape of Hank's cock and gives him a slow stroke. Already, Hank lets out a heavy huff and holds tighter onto the young man'a hair. Connor smiles. He takes a good position before he reaches between the man's legs and gives a few strong kisses on Hank's balls, sucking on them gently before moving away. Hank grunts.

"Jesus, Connor", he breathed out, swiping his tongue quickly over his lips. Connor makes a satisfied smile before he moves his tongue out and swipes it along the girth of his cock. Already, Hank is opening his legs a little wider, his stomach and chest heaving strongly. Connor moves over to the leaking tip and licks the pre-cum away. It tastes salty, sticky, not too good for his liking, but Connor cherished that taste anyway because it belonged to Hank. Connor moans a little, laving Hank clean with his tongue, trailing it over the head in a meandering way.

Hank grunts. He tugs at his hair a little harder. He opens his legs wider. Bucks his hips into the air just a little.

Connor opens his mouth and wraps his lips around the head.

"Oh, fuck", Hank curses, throwing his head back so hard his glasses almost fall off. Connor smiles a little before he closes his eyes and moves his head down a little further. He feels uncomfortable tightness in his throat and he pulls back quickly, gasping for air before he wraps his lips around Hank's shaft again, only focusing on the head for now. Hank shushes him, caressing his hair and telling him to take it slowly. His cock rests heavy inside Connor's mouth, as he keeps his head still and simply circles his tongue over the head, flickering it against the slit. His eyes are looking up at Hank and their eyes meet. Immediate heat takes over their bodies, and Connor dares to swallow more of him.

Hank tastes like something Connor can't quite describe. Most of the sense of taste is linked to the sweet musky scent, a little sweaty which made him taste a bit salty. Connor loved it.

Connor moved his head all the way up, then moved it back down, swallowing just a little more of Hank. Every time Connor moved back down, he took more of Hank into his mouth, before pulling back up, breathing through his nostrils, eyes looking up at Hank when his mouth wasn't so full. Hank kept his eyes on him through the whole progress - hands caressing his face, his hair, the back of his head. His breathing was heavy, eyes half-lidded as Hank relished the feeling of Connor's warm, wet mouth all around his shaft.

As Connor grew more comfortable to the new activity, he was finally able to take all of Hank deep into his throat. Closing his eyes, Connor held his heavy cock in his mouth, his nose buried in his thick pubic hair, the back of his throat feeling Hank's cock press against it. "Good boy", Hank whispers to him, biting down onto his bottom lip. Fire spread in Connor's body from that pet name, and he moved his head back up, then down. Soon, there was a steady pace. Connor hummed around his shaft as he blew him, tongue flat and lips spread wide around his cock. Hank started to get more vocal, his reactions stronger. He was grunting more often now, every now and then a sweet moan escaping past his lips when Connor's nose pressed against his skin. Hank was holding onto his hair stronger now, almost pushing Connor down, controlling his movements. And it didn't take long when Hank was thrusting his hips up a little, completely falling into the feeling.

"Connor", Anderson moaned out, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. Connor opens his eyes to see him, and god, he loves what he is witnessing. Past the mountain of Hank's stomach and his hairy chest, he could see a clear Adam's apple, then Hank's mouth gaping open, gasping, moaning, calling out his name. It turned Connor on so hard. He wrapped his arms tighter around Hank's legs, nails digging into his skin, lifting them higher up. Connor moved his head down all the way and opened his eyes, even if they made him a little teary. Hank takes the hint and he softly rolls his hips into his mouth, watching as Connor's cheeks turned redder, and how his lips wrapped tighter around his shaft. Hank moans almost obscenely, gripping tighter onto his hair, feeling how the tip of his cock was hitting the back of Connor's throat. Hank quietly calls out his name multiple times, until his thrusting suddenly stops and his hands move to Connor's cheeks, pulling him away.

 

 

A sinful string of saliva connects from his cock to Connor's parted lips as the man looked up at Hank with those pretty eyes of his. "Why'd you stop?" Connor asked, tilting his head playfully to the side. His eyes fall back down to Hank's pulsating cock, heavy and in need, leaking from the tip. 

Hank laughed. "I didn't wanna cum yet", he said simply, cupping Connor's cheeks, gently guiding him to move up from the floor. Connor follows him and sits on his lap. "You could have released. I wouldn't mind. Not at all", Connor keeps insisting, taking a comfortable position between Hanks legs. Their cocks flush against each other.

"That's nice and all, but -", Hank laughs mid-sentece, "- I want to finish off when I'm inside you. And I don't think I can cum twice."

For some reason, that makes Connor giggle. Maybe it was the awkwardness, or maybe it was simply cute that Hank wanted to last until he was inside him. Either way, Connor pulled in for a other kiss, and the conversation ends. Their arms wraps tightly against each other, loving, touching everywhere they could reach.

 

Hank moves his hands under Connor's ass and lifts him up, turning them around and laying Connor down on the couch. His head hits the few decorative pillows, the warm blanket sticking against his back as Hank moves on top of him. His chubby form presses against Connor's much slimmer one, and everything is suddenly hot, burning, all of his senses waking up and making Connor completely explode under him. He gently buried his nails against Hank's back and dragged them down, earning a low groan against his mouth. As an answer, Connor moans against the kiss and opens his legs wider, and Hank moves his fingers between his thighs like he completely understood what Connor wanted. He trails his hand past his cock, tickles Connor's sack a little before his finger presses against the rim.

Connor breaks away from the kiss.

"My bag", Connor mumbles, opening his eyes and eyeing at his most treasured object he carried around every day. Hank gives him a questioning look, but sits up, reaching behind him to grab the handle and pull the bag into his lap. "The big pocket. Somewhere near my sketchbook", Connor advices him as Hank opens the bag and reaches inside. 

The man can't help but laugh as he first pulls out a travel-sized lube bottle, then a whole line of brightly colored condoms. Connor laughs and hides his face. "You've been this eager for me, huh?" Anderson smirked, ripping one condom apart from the rest and placing it on the back of the sofa, making sure it wouldn't suddenly fall.

"I've been carrying stuff like that since, you know -", Connor turns his hand into a fist and pretends to be jerking himself off, "- in case we would end up like this suddenly."

"Well, now we have", Hank commented. He opens the cab of the lube bottle. "Good thing you're this lustful for me. It's always good to be preprared."

"I'm not lustful", Connon insists. "I'm a lot more than that."

He doesn't have to say more than that for Hank to understand what he means.

"I know", Hank says quietly.

"So am I."

 

 

Hank spreads some lube onto his fingers, spreading it all over before he knelt between Connor's legs. Connor inched closer, opening his legs wide so Hank could see every part of him. Hank moves his other hand to the man's cheek - where Connor gives him a loving kiss against his palm -, before Hank starts sliding his hand down his body. First, he trails his fingers over the strong lines of the collar bones, then on top of the sternum. His hand finally travels to his stomach, past his cock and under his thigh where Hank grabs him and lifts his leg a little higher. He presses a finger against the rim, and Connor already quivers from the contact.

"Are you ready for me?" Hank asks quietly, trailing his wet finger over the entrance in slow circles. It feels cold, ticklish. Connor swallows nervously and nods. He has never had anything down there, expect his own fingers that never reached quite deep enough. Hank Anderson looks at him with that loving gaze, full of insatiable passion towards him, before he presses the finger against his hole. The tip slides into Connor and his mouth opens. Hank presses it in deeper, to the first knuckle. It feels a little tight, a little weird. Hank pulls his finger out slowly, then pushes it back in, all the way. Connor's stomach jumps a little from it.

"Shh, it's alright", Anderson purrs to him quietly. He leans down and litters Connor's torso with kisses as he starts moving his index finger. He moves it out, then presses it back inside. It moves easily. Connor doesn't seem to be in any pain or discomfort. His body is relaxed, hands lazily wrapped around Hank as he started kissing higher on his body. He flickers his tongue over Connor's hard nipple, which makes him giggle a little. Hank picks his body up again, locks eyes with Connor before their lips are crashing together with burning ferocity. They both moan happily into the kiss, their chests pressed together, hips apart so Hank can still move his hand between them. Connor eagerly bucks his hips, silently asking for more.

Hank moves his finger out, then places the middle finger next to it. He presses the two fingers against the entrance, spreads him open a little before both fingers enter him. Connor moans wildly against the kiss. It's only the second finger, only halfway inside, but it already feels so tight. His muscles are spamming a little around his fingers as Hank pulls them out and moves them back in. Connor lifts his legs just a little higher, holding them in the air. When his fingers are as deep as the can go, Hank starts spreading them apart, then closes them again, scissoring inside Connor, spreading him open.

It aches a little. It feels unusual. Connor gasps away from the kiss and presses their foreheads together.

"You're doing so good, Connor. So good", Hank whispers. It calms him down, makes Connor smile a little. He relaxes around his fingers, and they dive in just a little deeper. Connor's muscles clench tightly around his fingers again, but then he forces himself to relax again, and Hank continues spreading him open.

Hank's touch and the soft kisses he leaves on Connor's mouth are loving and indulgent, making Connor almost fall asleep on his delicate treatment. Connor's breath was leaving him in short bursts that carried sweet quiet moans that only Hank could hear. Hank whispered compliments to him, promising that everything was going to be alright, telling Connor how much he cherished him. It made Connor feel so safe in his arms. His eyes were even a little teary whenever Hank said such sweet things right into his ear. He wish they could stay like this forever.

Hank suddenly fixes his position again and he trails a few kisses down, before he is grabbing the lube bottle again and spreading some more lotion on a third finger. He moves his fingers out again, puts three fingers tightly together and presses those inside. Connor lets out a groan, his back arches, body tenses up. It feels like he couldn't take it. His hands were reaching down for Hank, trying to tell him he wasn't going to be able to relax, when suddenly Hank presses his lips against his cock. Connor quiets down, his body calms down and he shyly looks down. Hank gives him a short smile before he moved his tongue over the slit of his leaking cock. It elicited a moan from Connor, and Hank does it again. Connor lets his head fall back down onto the pillow and he opens his legs just a little wider. His legs carefully lift themselves over Hank's shoulders and press against his back.

Hank opens his mouth and wraps his lips around the tip, sucking on it with relish, eyes opened, watching every little twitch and shake Connor's body made. He didn't even go gently first - Hank was moaning against his cock already, circling his tongue over it, sucking in heavily. His fingers move in and out carefully as Connor adjusted to the feeling, both pleasure and the aching burning together like fire. He moans out Hank's name and threads his fingers through his grizzled hair, the ponytail loosening so much that it came completely loose. Connor finds himself unable to look down, so he just let's his hand feel it all, releasing Hank's hair. He tugs at it when Hank suddenly swallows more of him, and starts moving his head up and down, so fast that it was bringing Connor closer to the edge.

"Hank, _Hank"_ , Connor moaned out, writhing under the man. Hank hums against his flesh and it creates vibrations that make his legs clench around the man's head. Hank twisted his fingers inside him, and Connor's body jolts. Hank's fingers seem to be rubbing against something that made it hard for him to stay still. He does it again, kneading against that sweet spot, and Connor moans louder. He tugs at his hair again, and Hank swallows even more of him. He starts bobbing his head up and down fast, fingers starting to ram against that spot that made his toes curl.

Connor could feel himself grow closer to the edge. His mouth hanging open, he fell into the feeling that took over his whole body. Everything felt _so good_. Connor couldn't stop the moans that escaped from his throat, and the more Hank swallowed of him, the louder he got. Connor wailed when Hank took all of him deep into his mouth, and his fingers curled just right inside him.

Sparkles started running through his torso. Connor grabs tightly onto Hank's curls.

"H-Hank, I'm -- I'm so close, please", he whined. He wasn't sure if he wanted Hank to stop, or to continue. It felt so pleasant that Connor just wanted to release. But Anderson chose for him, and he quickly pulled away, removing his fingers out of him. Connor gasped for air, looking up at the roof as he felt the euphoria slow down, then disappear almost completely. The tingly feeling took over his lower body as Hank leaned back down to kiss Connor.

 

 

Connor can feel Hank's cock press against him, just like the rest of his body, and strong arousal takes over him again. He kisses Hank back, hands travelling on his hair that was now tangling free. When Hank pulls away, Connor takes time to inspect his face. Hank still looked as handsome as ever, expect with his hair down he looked more wild and unkempt which excited him. "Your hair is so pretty", Connor compliments him with a cheeky grin, running his fingers through the slightly greasy locks. Hank chuckles, leaning against the young man's touch. He quite liked it when Connor played with his hair. Maybe he would keep it down more often.

Hank swipes his hand through Connor's hair. "Yours is very pretty, too. You're like an angel", Hank says to him. Connor blushes and giggles, before he pulls Hank back down into a deep kiss. It's fervent, strong and passionate, making both of them sigh happily into it and just relax around each other.

Connor whines when Hank pulls away, but he grins when Hank is opening the condom and putting it on. He then spread lube over his cock, before he tossed the bottle away and positioned himself back between his legs. With his legs splayed wide open, Connor looks up at Hank with fervor in his eyes, lips slightly parted and chest heaving strongly. Hank's other hand lifts Connor's leg, while the other one guides his cock to his entrance. Hank locks eyes with Connor quickly.

"Connor. Are you sure you want me to be your first?" Hank Anderson asked, his breath warm and heavy against Connor's skin.

"Yes. More than anything. I want you", he pleaded out, giving Hank the most desperate look he could make. Hank cursed a little before he leans down to kiss Connor. They kiss with strong vehemence, lips moving hungrily over each other, tasting and savoring every part. Connor kept his legs high up, feeling how Hank pressed his cock against the rim, before he started pushing in. 

The first try, it didn't quite slide in as planned. He tried again, but only on the third try did Hank slip in. Connor grunted heavily from the tightness, how he was spread open so wildly and he broke away from Hank's lips. He clutches onto Hank tightly, nails piercing onto his back, legs wrapping around his waist, helping Hank to move deeper.

"Does it hurt?" Hank asked and stilled his hips. Connor is immediately shaking his head, clenching his legs around Hank. He shushes the younger man.

"We have the whole night. You don't have to rush yourself", Anderson whispered, pressing kisses against Connor's neck. A soft gasp escapes from his mouth. "Take your time. I want you to enjoy it."

"I already am", Connor breathed out. His hand moves to cradle Hank's head, pressing it down against his neck. "Kiss me there."

Hank does as he was told, and he presses his lips strongly against the curve of his neck. He first simply just kisses, his tongue gently licking against the skin, before he draws back and moves back in. He sucks in, and Connor releases a sinful sound that makes Hank move his hips away, and then back against him. His cock slides in deeper. Connor can feel a staggering breath against his neck, before Hank moves back to blemishing his skin with kisses and soft bites. Connor relaxes more after every kiss, exposing his neck more by tilting his head to the side. When he is relaxed enough, Hank moves in a little deeper. Connor can feel himself widening, and he feels so full and tight, weirdly moist and hot. He loves every part of the progress.

It takes them a long while, but suddenly, Connor can feel Hank's plump body completely press against his, and the man relaxes. Connor sighs happily and wraps his limbs stronger around the older man and pulls him close. Quietly, Hank pulls out almost all the way and pushes himself back in, inspecting the way Connor reacted. His face contorted for a moment, before relaxing and releasing a low moan full of satisfaction. Hank does it again, one of his strong hands holding onto Connor's hip as he moves back in. "You're not in any pain, right?" he still decided to ask between from the soft grunts Connor kept making.

The brunette shook his head. "No", he said, giving Hank a soft smile. "Fuck me."

Hank can't help but chuckle. "You are quite eager for me, aren't you?" he asked, moving his other hand moving to caress Connor's cheek. He presses a kiss against the man's palm and looks up at him. "I've always been eager for you", Connor says back to him, pressing another kiss against his palm before he gives Hank those eyes that just begged him to move. And Hank does.

 

Hank starts slowly, their eyes locked together as he thrusts in and out extremely carefully. He is gentle and loving with the first rock of his hips as he draws himself as far out as he could, before slowly pushing back in. Connor is biting onto his bottom lip heavily during the first movements, but his body seems to be adjusting to Hank as his eyes close, mouth opens and a moan escapes from his throat. The movement gets easier and Hank dares to speed up a little.

Hank grabs Connor's hand and moves it next to his head, their fingers woven together as he leans down and kisses him passionately. He keeps his careful pace on, other hand caressing Connor's waist, keeping him steady. With every thrust inside, Connor moans against his mouth and holds onto his hand tighter. His legs clench around Hank, pulling him as close as possible, his free hand touching his back, scratching, then stroking as to apologize. Connor's eyes felt a little teary - he wasn't sure if the pressure was too much, or if the pleasure was too good, or if he just loved the way Hank was caring for him. He took his time, making sure Connor was doing alright, every now and then breaking away from the kiss to whisper sweet nothings to him before locking their lips together again. Connor felt whole. He could not have wished for better.

His body starts to rock back with every movement and Hank takes it as a sign to speed up a little. Connor immediately lets out a gasp, breaking away from the kiss, locking eyes with Hank. There was such burning passion in his eyes, voracious lust and love mushed perfectly together, and Connor could not have enough of it. Hank thrusted into him harder, making Connor moan and close his eyes and when he looked back up at Hank he had the most alluring smile on his face. "You look so beautiful like this", he whispered. Connor loved Hank's eyes. His iris, dilation working like a shutter, was capturing the luscious sight in front of them, and all Connor could do was to look back into them and show his true emotions, refusing to hide how good he was feeling.

Hank leaned down to press tender kisses on Connor's face - his forehead, his temple, cheek bones and nose. Just cherishing every feature this angel had, admiring him like Connor was the finest oeuvre. And to Hank Anderson, he truly was the finest piece of art he had ever seen. So perfectly build, something you could look at for long without getting bored, something he deeply wanted to capture. Hank was the luckiest man in the world, to be allowed to touch this production like this, cherishing his whole body like it should be cherished, loving every little inch in his body.

"You are divine", Hank breathed out before he almost fell back on top of Connor, pressing his mouth against his. Connor answers him with relish, whimpering loudly as Hank speeds up a little again. His thrusts become harder, the roll of his lips more precise, aiming for that sweet spot inside Connor. He lets go of Connor's hand and moves both of his hands under Connor legs and lifts them higher, leaning forward so Connor's bottom was almost lifted up from the couch. With a few more movements, Connor's body suddenly jolts and a loud whimper escapes from his throat. Connor wraps his arms tighter around his body and Hank does it again. His cock slams just perfectly against that sweet prostate that made his body jump, and every time he did it, Connor's legs clenched tightly around him, his fingers grabbing tightly onto the man.

He gasps away from the kiss, his cheeks red, lips shining pink, half-lidded eyes looking up at Hank with such innocence that the old man could no longer slow down. He moves out, then thrusts back inside in a faster pace, grunting with each time his cock dived deep inside. His stomach was pressing against Connor's throbbing cock, creating just enough friction that it made his legs shake. "More", Connor breathed out, his hand quickly caressing Hank's hair behind his ear. "Please, more."

"I will give you my everything, Connor", Hank moaned out before he kisses him again, this time only for a short moment before he attacks Connor's neck. Hank sucks on the curve of his neck so hard he would leave a bruise, and Connor moans his name out wildly. He can already feel himself getting closer, and it's the first time in his life he would be finishing without touching his shaft to get over the edge. Connor lets his mouth hang open so Hank can hear every sound he makes, and whenever Connor does unravel a desperate moan, he can hear Hank groan against his neck, the vibrations making his back arch. 

Precum was seeping from Connor's cock as he felt like he was coming closer, so close that he couldn't tell how long he could take it anymore. His muscles were tightening and relaxing around Hank in a wild rhythm, toes and fingers both curling and scratching the man's backside, his whole body burning from the heat. He could tell Hank was coming closer, too. He was speeding up his thrusts again, the rhythm not so clear and correct anymore, but a little more messier, more heated. Completely lustful.

"H-Hank, I'm so close", Connor breathed out, rubbing his face against his cheek, the man's beard a little ticklish, making him smile between the moans. Hank wrapped his arms stronger around him, one hand on Connor's back, one behind his head, holding him close. "Then, cum for me", Hank grunted out, before he buried his face against Connor's neck, giving him quick kisses and teasingly licking all the way up to the shell of his ear. Connor shook from that, biting down onto his lip as he could feel Hank's hot breath right against his ear. He clutched onto the man tightly, holding on for his dear life as Hank sped up again, slamming himself inside him over and over again, abusing that tender spot inside him.

Connor could feel his hips shaking against Hank with each fast thrust, his cock throbbing wildly. Connor pressed a kiss against Hank's cheek, taking quick short breaths that were mixed together with soft whines that Hank adored.

"I love you", Connor moaned out. Hank didn't stop his hips, but a loud moan escaped from his throat as a reaction. He held onto him tighter, pressing his forehead against Connor's shoulder.

"I love you, too."

Hank has never said that before, until now.

That makes Connor go over the edge, sudden tension inside of his abdomen uncoiling and releasing faster than he could prepare himself for. Hank's name wailed from Connor's mouth multiple times as he was cumming, seed gushing out over his stomach, creating a sticky mess between their bodies. His body spams wildly, everything in his body burning wildly as Hank continues to roll his hips harder, faster, holding onto Connor tightly as his orgasm runs through his whole body like a bullet. It all feels so good, the best he has ever had. Connor cries out as Hank fucks him even harder to achieve his own euphoria. He moans out for Hank, telling him how much he loved him, repeating his name again and again like it was a prayer. Hank quickly kisses Connor, pressing them against the couch as he rolls his hips a few more times, loving the feeling of Connor just wiggling around his cock. He reaches his own limit soon after, cumming with a low grunt and a few soft moans Connor loved to listen. He presses his hips against him, pressing his cock as deep as he could as Hank orgasms, his lower body trembling just a little before he relaxes on top of Connor, hands placed against the couch to make sure he wouldn't crush him.

 

 

A simple, silent minute passes where they just hold onto each other, enjoying each other's warmth and company, not even caring how sweaty they were. Connor felt so wet between his legs, but he still wanted to keep holding onto Hank for as long as possible. Finally, Hank lets out a soft sigh and he helps Connor to lay his legs back down before he pulls out. Connor whimpers as the man's cock slips out, leaving him empty. Before Hank starts cleaning them both up and dispose the condom, he gives kisses all over Connor once again. Connor caresses his hair as Hank moves his mouth over his chest, placing the last, strong kiss right over his heart before he looks at the younger man.

"I meant what I said", Hank says quietly. He smiles, and Connor immediately knows that those words sounded quite familiar. Something he himself had said not too long ago. He smiles back at Hank.

"I know you did", he says to him. "I'm glad."

Hank gives him a subtle kiss on the lips before he draws back again, making Connor whine a little. "God, I -", Hank starts, but he ends up laughing a little and his gaze falls down. Connor moves one of his hands up to his hair, caressing it, trailing his fingers through the tangled ends, waiting patiently for Hank to say what he needed. Soon, Anderson locks eyes with him again and presses his body close to his. Connor loved the feeling of it - Hank's chubby, hairy form pressed against his own body that was the complete opposite. It felt like they fit together almost perfectly, and he wanted to feel like this more in the future.

"I have completely fallen for you", Hank chuckles out, almost shyly. Connor can't help but giggle as he brings Hank down and presses their foreheads together. 

"Like a flower petal", he whispers. Hank chuckles again.

"Yeah. Like a flower petal."

 

 

 

After they have cleaned each other up, Hank was already dressing himself while Connor was still laying on the couch, nude and comfortable, his eyes never leaving Hank. As Hank put the last remaining clothing on, he turned to look at Connor with a smirk. He lifted his glasses a little higher on his nose and moved to stand next to their shitty excuse of a bed, and like an excited puppy, Connor moved up to his knees and looked up at his lover, his first love, his first everything. Hank tilts his head to the side a little and grabs Connor by his chin, moving his thumb over his bottom lip. Connor eagerly opens his mouth for him, eyes looking up at him with curious suspense.

"Would you like to be my muse?" Hank asks. Connor had not been expecting a question like that, so he ends up only staring at Hank.

"I'd love to photograph you just like this. So I can remember this moment forever."

Connor can't help but smile.

 

He finds himself at the studio, sitting on the floor with only a white sheet covering his body, soft lights warming him up. Hank is close to him with a camera, taking shots that never revealed his whole face. A shot of his lips peeking over his shoulder, a close up to his brown curls and eyes full of love towards the artist itself. Connor's posture was relaxed with a hint of nervousness, or even self-doubt in his averted gaze. But Hank kept giving him compliments, telling him how good he looked and in those moments, Connor felt loved, cherished, complete.

"You look handsome, as always", Hank comments as the camera clicks again, capturing a large smile that had come across Connor's face. He always giggled when Hank was telling him how good he looked. They made him feel like they had been like this for years. Hank crouched next to him and planted a kiss on his lips, hand cupping Connor's cheek, pulling him even closer. Connor's hands immediately moved over Hank, wrapping around him, the sheet falling off and revealing his nude body to him again.

"You're the masterpiece here", he whispers against his mouth, before diving in for another loving kiss. "I wanna capture your beauty next."

Hank only chuckles at that before he kisses Connor, deeply and lovingly. He ends up laying the camera onto the floor before he pushes Connor against the floor, holding him close.

 

Life felt like it was worth living again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never stop being creative.


End file.
